


Flesh

by tori1116



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hallucinations, Language, M/M, Priest Jason, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Withdrawal, bad stuff, but unlike the one from Flashpoint, but with a bright ending, vampire roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tori1116/pseuds/tori1116
Summary: “So what, never see people with overgrowth canines?”“There’s a difference between physical anomalies and abomination, and believe me, I know how to tell the difference.”Roy was clean for five years, and now he's a bloodsucker who is hallucinating his childhood self, and he is full-on using it again because blood sucks; then he's in Gotham, get shot and captured by a horrifying priest. It seems to Roy that his life really is getting better and better at every turn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't resist it.  
> They didn't know each other, Roy basically was just Roy became a vam, priest Jason was a priest who fought evil.

It had flooded over him, for fuck know how many times. A sudden physical pang, deft and ferocious, rushing through him and jogged up his whole body like a streak of lightning.

A sharp, brittle sound slipped out his mouth; he gasped hard, body curled up the same way his inside had been clenching and balled.

Everything was a blur except for the pain, which had been coming and going as it’s pleased. He had dozed off, or more than likely, just passed out before he was woken by something horrifying that was happening to his body.

There’s a sound coming from the front, nothing he could’ve recognized until his messed up brain could be a less messed up.

Some muffled clanking sound. A chain of keys knocking against each other, a twist of lock. It meant something, yes, but what did it mean.

 _Use your stone-head, you idiot._ He sworn to himself, face pressed against the ground. The sound had triggered something within him. He knew those sound, he just couldn’t be able to read it properly, it didn’t make sense, nothing was making sense.

The only thing he knew, reckoned by his instinct, was that it was better for him to understand what’s going on, as soon as fucking possible.

_It isn’t rocket science, for fuck's sake, you know rocket science. You’re supposed to be a **genius**._

“You’re awake,” somebody was saying.

Somebody was saying to him, positively; because somebody had gotten into the cell.

His cell.

Someone had gotten into his cell.

That’s what he should know, fuck, that’s what he should’ve realized.

 _Took you long enough_ , said the stupid brat who was wearing a red suit and a yellow bycocket, _So much for being a genius, but I guess it makes sense, since no genius I know has ever come with a mashed-potato brain._

His first reaction was to fight, kicked his legs out rapidly, aiming for a stand but only succeeded on sitting himself up. Fucking legs went jelly on him, so he couldn’t stand, big deal, he still got his hands, the greatest weapons of his that could’ve turned everything into a weapon.

“Fuck,” of course.

Of course his hands were fucking handcuffed, how could he forgotten that?

There’s no hand-to-hand combat left for him, he dragged his deadweight body away, trying to retreat to the far end of this place. “I’ve checked on you two hours ago, but you passed out,” said the person who had entered his cell. He stopped in the halfway, eyes darted at the person.

His vision was smeared for a few seconds, until he cleared it up a little by blinking.

A young man had stood before him, possibly around his own age; blue eyes, short raven hair with a streak of white on top.

The man told him, “You probably don’t feel like it, but it’s better if you try to eat something.” Then he put down a silver tray that had some sandwiches and a glass of water on it.

This wasn’t what he had expected when he had caught the sound and realized someone was in. For one, the food was wrong, and he was pretty sure those things he had expected didn’t come dressing like this.

He thought he should be able to understand who the guy was and what the hell was going on.

 _What’s going on then? Think, mush-head,_ the brat urged him with a mocking smirk. He pretended he didn’t hear or see the little demon, only focused on recalling his own memory.

 

***

 

“Shit,” the guy rattled in fear once he knew what was happening to him. The grip on his shirt had prevented him from running or struggling.

Roy hadn’t exactly done anything, nothing more than just pounded on him and held him roughly against the wall, but it seemed the costume alone was scary enough, the guy was acting like he was three steps away from peeing himself.

“Listen man, just…just let me go, okay? I won’t do it again, I swear! I won’t deal around here anymore!”

“Calm down man, I’m not here to shut you down.”

The guy stared blankly at him after he had dismissed him. “Have you got anything good? I need it strong, not those little candies, the real stuff,” he asked in urgency, still keeping his hands steady at the moment, but only so much for his voice.

He should’ve changed his clothing, he realized that when he saw the confusion on the guy’s face.

People don’t usually buy drug dressing as a vigilante, not aside from Halloween anyway. It hadn’t had occur to him what he was wearing, the need had come sudden and it’s consuming.

Whatever he’d left had spent on the last day of the road trip, the last dose he had was thirteen hours ago before he set foot in this city. He had been fine enough to set his base, nothing had been coming at him yet, so he’d figured he might as well just went out a little, scouted around to gather some information before he had his kicks.

Then, of course, it’d come at him, as vicious as ever.

He wouldn’t have cared whether he was in his suit or in his civvies, or even fucking butt-naked, he needed it, and he needed it bad without a second of delay.

The guy he was holding had finally gotten the message, probably had learned it through his shaking voice, the cold sweat, or the desperation on his pale face.

He vaulted away once he had gotten what he wanted, “ _Best of the city,_ ” that guy had declared when he had handed the stuff to Roy. Roy hoped it was really as good as he said; good enough to serve the hunger and block out the pain.

There’s an alley at his right, he headed inside it without thinking, butt slumped hard on the ground once he’d entered the alley far enough to make himself much or less invisible to whoever might’ve walked down the street.

He rummaged his utility belt to pull out his gear.

 _Look at you,_ the kid presented himself right after Roy had gotten the needle ready. _Couldn’t even wait long enough to go back to the place._ The needle stuck deftly into his arm, he plunged it slowly, deliciously slow, head lolled backward as he had finally emptied it. _Just doing it on the street like a real scum._

The wave came fast, almost immediate. His mouth slacked open in pleasure. Best of the city or not, that’s a good uncut stuff.

Few seconds later, he raised his eyes, seeing the brat had stood beside him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. _What if someone sees you, man,_ the kid shook his head mockingly, _what a disgrace to the uniform._

“What do I care,” he retorted with a snort, right before a hooker led her costumer into the alley.

The woman spotted him, and he smiled back in a way of greeting. Although due to the darkness he was sitting in, she probably hadn’t seen the drowsy smile, or even his red Kevlar suit. Or maybe she saw them all, and she just didn’t give a fuck.

She turned her gaze away nonchalantly. Roy tipped his head slightly to watch the woman passing by along with the man she was leading. The man didn’t even glance at Roy, didn’t interest in anything that wouldn’t have gotten his cock sucked.

They went into the end of the alley, hidden themselves into the dark.

“See, no one cares,” he announced to the kid, might’ve even swayed his hand in a presenting gesture if his limbs weren’t so sluggish at the moment.

Everything was warm, and sweet, and peaceful. With no part of him was hurting, he closed his eyes in content, savoring the phantom sweetness in his mouth and let it full his stomach.

 

***

 

“Don’t think I could keep it down,” he informed the guy, after he had gathered himself and regarded the food before him for a few seconds.

“Try,” the guy replied curtly.

He didn’t do as he's told, not because he did’t normally haste to obey when someone barking orders at him, even though the bossy attitude was in deed irritating, but because he really didn’t feel like he could’ve stomached anything, not with his inside was still kind of clenching and turning.

But his mouth was dry, and the glass of water did look enticing. He bit his chipped lips a little, pondering was it safe for him to get that water inside his body.

“Is it going to burn a hole on me or is that just a myth,” He picked up the glass, squinting his eyes to study the liquid. The guy seemed slightly amused.

“You really are a peculiar one, aren’t you?”

He responded with a vague hum, before he tossed the glass up and took a swig.

 

***

 

At first, he thought he should just leave it. He had already taken his dose, and he wasn’t planning to go out long anyway. _But what if you got hungry?_ the kid said to him as he reached the window. _You know you really should pack your snacks. Don’t want to end up eating something that is unhealthy to us, do we?_

Right. He turned back, picked up one of the pinky-sized glass container he had left on the table and stuffed it into his utility belt. Just in case.

The night in this city wasn’t exactly bleak or somber, it glinted with measureless of artificial light, as polluted as any big beautiful city. Though unlike Metropolis or Star City, something about it appeared to be more callous and cold, unforgiving even.

It had been three days since he had gotten into this city, he had already known enough of this area where he believed was the hunting-field.

The newspaper hadn’t lent him much help, no specific details about those murder cases nor any valuable information, so he had to do thing the old fashion way, checking on those previous crime scenes, and chat with the people around to find out was there anyone who might’ve known or seen something, until he had come to decide where he should put his money on.

Unsurprisingly, the people around this block had disregarded him at first, met a lot of creepy guys themselves, not easily impressed by someone who wasn’t wearing their color.

Maybe I should do some changes with my wardrobe. The thought had mildly crossed his mind when one of the street thugs had told him to “Fuck off” and “You’re wearing the wrong clothes, Tiger Lily”.

It sure would be easier to help him fit in, if he dressed in some deeper color, but he liked his suit, and he hated the thought of covering himself in black as though he was mourning; _and that isn’t what you do? How?_ The brat had chimed in with a chuckle. He ignored that.

No doubt that the people in this hellhole were mean and nasty, but thankfully he wasn’t a bit docile either.

He had spoken to the people, learned about something from a few guys who had learned something from some other guys.

All the murders had happened in Park Row, three tramps and a hooker had been killed. All the lowest of society, the most easy target for a serial killer.

He had almost missed it, since it had never gotten into the front page. A less significant story compared to anything else, such as a series of bombing attacks that had happened in uptown, a mental hospital break-out along with shit tons of robberies and all the other everyday crimes.

Nobody had cared about those nobodies. _That could totally be you dude! Just died on the street and no one would’ve even noticed you’re gone. Except you couldn’t, what a shame_ , the kid had said to him back when he had read the news, he had kind of gotten used to the brat at that point, he didn’t even feel angry anymore.

He didn’t pay the story much mind, not until he had caught something. For all he knew, it could’ve easily been some crazy cult thing, or maybe someone had just read too many horror novels, but he was willing to take his chance. Since the location of the den had completely lost to him, all he could do now a day was to track one of them down, and hoping the one he could find was crucial enough to be able to lead him back to their oldest.

The place he had decided staking out was a homeless shelter. Although the bodies had been cast in a different location throughout the block, but the victims had all been coming to this shelter at one time or another, whenever they had needed.

Perching on a rooftop where he could get a clear view of the targeting place from across the street, he pulled out the binoculars and watching the place through its widows.

For all he could see, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, he watched some good Samaritans who was working at the soup kitchen, there’s a priest inside strolling from table to table, talked with some people if they’re not too busy with the eating and would like to have a nice conservation.

The priest was young, real tall and handsome, smiling slightly in a way which implied that he might’ve really given a shit about those people he was currently speaking to.

 _I wonder what’s under that full collar suit_ , the wicked brat giggled a little when he was mindlessly checking out the guy. Looking at the same direction as him, the kid sighed dreamingly, _bet it is something delicious_.

He licked his lips before he declared nonchalantly to his little demon, “Not my type, kid. Too much holier than thou. Probably wounldn’t agree with my stomach anyway.”

That brought out a laugher from the kid. And as though someone besides him was able to catch the sound, a pair of blue eyes turned to the widow suddenly.

“What the fuck?” he murmured in surprise. The night was dark enough and he was well hidden, there’s no way in hell he could’ve exposed himself.

The priest seemed to be looking directly at his spot, it even felt like they had locked eyes for a moment before the guy was finally facing away.

_Shit, did he see us?_

“No, probably just looking at some other things,” he told the kid. And who cared if the guy had seen him anyway, it’s not like the church people would’ve just jumped to the conclusion only by his appearance, there’s nothing changed on that, not if he could help it.

And besides, he was pretty sure he could’ve handled a priest with a stake.

 _Sure you can, you definitely could handle it like a pro_ , the brat remarked with a meaningfully grin.

“I don’t remember I was dirty as a child,” he reproached dryly. The kid snorted at him. _What, are you kidding man? You are one dirty little bastard since the day you’re born._

 

***

 

“Oh fuck,” he yelled in exasperation, “Did people just stop using some good old traditional thing like a _stake_ now?”

The wound wasn’t fatal but the pain was immense. It would be better for him to clear things up if he didn't look like what he was looking like right now. But the bullet had come unannounced, and the hot pain had triggered his goddamn instinct.

The fucking fangs were showing and he hadn’t been able to stop it. Thankfully-- _But not really_ \--the guy hadn’t tried to kill him.

The bullet hadn’t aimed for his heart, or for his head, and it didn’t seem to Roy that it was because the guy was a bad shot. Bastard wanted him alive, so he could find out more about his killings, trying to figuring out whether he was just one stupid outcast who wandered into this city, or was he part of a pack.

He could’ve at least dodged away a little if he didn’t make the mistake he’d made.

The kill was clean, with only the body laying on the ground, cold and drained. No one drop of blood had been spilled. It had appeared at that earlier point that he was right to chase down these murders.

The screaming he had heard had gotten him running down the street, but when he had gotten to the scene, the sharp scream of the victim had long since died out and the victim himself had been close to die out as well.

He hadn’t caught a good look at the killer; the bloodsucker had had his back to Roy during his last moment of feeding, and he had reacted instantly once he had sensed Roy’s presence.

The chase between him and the creature was brief, because the fucker with a full stomach was faster than him, and he had appeared to know more about this street than Roy did ( _and also, you have weakened._ The brat had reminded him).

He had lost his track, so he had decided to come back at the crime scene. There had been no smell lingered in the air, but the images of the feeding, the second-hand hunger had been hard for him to ignore.

 _Just to think,_ the little shit had uttered, _what it will be like to taste it, hot and fresh and one hundred percent sweet organic._

And he had squatted beside the body when the bullet arrived, doing nothing but just staring, to just trying not to think.

“You got it wrong man,” he exclaimed during the chase, but the guy who was chasing him and insisting to put more bullets in him just wouldn’t listen.

He rushed through the street and hurled between buildings, trying his best to lose the guy. He was fast, dammit, even though he truly had weakened, he hadn’t been that far way from being that kid.

Somehow Mr. Van Helsing here was always one step behind. He didn’t get a chance to take a good look at the guy, but the small glimpses he had caught had informed him that whoever was behind him, wasn’t the most likely thing he assumed would’ve chased him down in this city.

He ran into a parking lot before the guy finally closing in on him.

“Fuck!” he yelped in pain, as the moment his face and his body was bumping hard into the car hood. He twisted quickly and fought back, knocked the fucker in the face with an elbow.

The guy grunted and loosened his grip a little, Roy took the chance and broke it off, but couldn't get far away before the guy caught him by his waist and threw him back onto the car again.

“Oh son of a _bitch_!” With the guy forced his knee precisely into the bullet hole at Roy’s abdomen, this was even more painful than the first time. Roy immediate slammed his eyes closed and hissed, getting the wind knocked out of him for a second.

“Where’s your pack?” the guy questioned him from above.

He was about to spat at the guy, tell him how he didn’t have a goddamn pack, and the guy better fucking move before he finally lose his temper and go from defense to really, highly offense. But instead, he paused, staring at the other confusedly once he had gotten a good look at the face.

It’s not a Bat, that’s for sure.

He relaxed a little, tipping his head aside to gaze up at the priest. The same dark hair priest he had seen in the homeless shelter just two days ago, even come with the same full collar suit.

“Did attacking people is one of the missions of god now?” he queried thoughtfully.

“You’re not people, aren’t you?” the guy replied in a calm, sensible tone. As for proving his point, he nudged at the corner of Roy’s mouth with the pistol he’d been using, shoving the mouth open to reveal the sharpness.

Roy tossed his head aside to get the gun away from his jaw. He glared at the guy. “So what, never see people with overgrowth canines?”

“There’s a difference between physical anomalies and abomination, and believe me, I know how to tell the difference.”

“Oh I’m sure they had taught you all of it in seminary,” he retorted with a fake smirk. “But you got it all wrong, altar boy, I don’t have a pack and I didn’t kill those people.”

“And you expect me to believe this?” the guy said, “There’re five dead bodies including the one you’ve just been with, all died because of blood lost, but no significant injury.”

“Yes, you’re right, but it wasn’t me, okay? There’s another bloodsucker out there killing those people, that’s why I’m in the alley before you shot me, I was chasing the killer, but I lost him, so I went back try to find some clues.”

“Really,” the priest seemed amused, or sarcastic, it’s kind of hard to tell with that placid face. “Why would you want to chase down the killer?”

“Why else would anyone chase someone, I wanted to catch that bastard.”

“Why.”

“That’s none of your business. And fucking let go of me!” Roy struggled to break free. For someone who was wearing a full collar suit, the priest was abnormally strong. He lifted his legs and kicked the guy off, slipped away as the guy stumbled a little.

This time he was able to pull some real distance between them, not too much, just enough for him to pull out the bow and shot. The arrow went straight through the guy shoulder.

The priest clenched his teeth, yanking out the arrow with only a slight grunt.

“Are you on steroid or something?” Roy asked aloud as he rolled out of the way to budge the bullet. _I would like to have the same thing the man had please,_ the taunting voice rose from his side.

Not now. He snarled at the kid.

The guy was a good shot, but Roy was far from bad himself. Problem was, there’s only a matter of time before the priest decided to give up and turn the mission from capturing to killing.

Since he didn’t want to return the favor, he better just spit. He turned away, heading for the exit.

A second bullet crippled his ankle.

“Fuck!” he cried out in pain, then the guy was there. The bow was kicked far away from him, just as the second it slid off of Roy’s grip.

The following hand-to-hand combat didn’t seem promising to Roy. His ankle was wreck and the immediate healing process was basically just his undead body forcing his fractured muscle back together, so it was kind of hurt like a motherfucker, and although Roy was good at martial art, also was the guy, and he was thicker but just as quick.

He hadn’t realized when he had seen the guy at the shelter, the suit had hid it perfectly, but there’s no doubt that what under the respectable black suit were tons of trained lethal muscle.

That’s the answer to the question, he thought to himself, regarding to the previous chat he had with the kid.

He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have been distracted by the conversation with his own demon when he was fucking fighting someone.

“Shit,” he murmured bleakly, after his back had landed hard on the ground. Don’t talk to your hallucination in the middle of the fight, lessons learned.

The guy pressed into him, with a forearm reclined on his throat to keep him at bay. “We haven’t gotten a Fang situation in this city a long time. Let just suppose what you’ve said is true, and you didn’t kill those people, I’m going to ask you one more time, why do you want to catch the killer?”

“Because that’s what vigilante do? They hunt down bad people, fighting the evil? Have you seriously didn’t notice the suit and the domino I was wearing?”

“There’s another bunch of people who come with a suit and a mask, and they wear it as they have sinned,” the priest stated matter-of-factly, “And Fang don’t do vigilante work, they feed.”

Before he knew it, he was hissing, while he was trembling in rage, “I don’t _feed_ , you motherfucker--” _But you did_ , _well, not voluntarily sure. But you did. Just opened your mouth and swallow it all._

“Are you meaning to say that you have never fed on people?”

“Yeah, tried it once, big deal. Blood is overrated, I tell you. The taste is so bad you just wanna puke out your tongue.” _Such a lair_ , the kid clicked his tongue.

The priest regarded him with a pair of incisive blue eyes. “The Fang feed, one way or the other, that’s how it works.”

“I don’t, I told you I don’t!” he was mad and he was yelling. Fuck, the pain was coming. When was the last time he had taken his dose? “I don’t fucking do that blood-eating shit, I didn’t fucking kill those people--can’t you just leave me alone--!”

He struggled rapidly, the priest pressed harder on him.

The wave of anger surged up, he lifted his head, and the priest was close, too close. The collared neck was right in front of his face. _Just to imagine,_ the brat purred longingly, _what’s **under**  it_.

A sob slipped out his throat, he threw his head back, with his eyes clammed shut, teeth clenching his lips.

He didn’t think about anything, just focused on breathing for a moment. He didn't realize, but the barrel of the gun was jabbing at his chin.

“You’re not making sense,” the priest said, eyebrows creased together skeptically. “Start making sense, and I might’ve showed some mercy to give you a bullet in the head, instead of pulling out the stake.”

“Stake,” he repeated the word. Somehow it made both him and the brat, who stood beside his head, giggled.

That seemingly had sent off the wrong message. Probably was thinking that he wasn’t taking his threat serious, the pistol was lifted from his chin and shoved inside his mouth.

Then the priest cocked the gun.

That's just beautiful, a handsome vampire hunter priest shoved his big hard pistol inside me. Roy thought sarcastically.

 _Not a bad way to go out though,_ the brat said, _I know, it’s not exactly as your dream of die as a hero, but this is already way better than how the little girl died, you know, the one you was supposed to save? The one that got her throat cut open all thanks to you?_

He looked up mildly, and the priest looked back at him. The pair of blue eyes had glinted distantly in thought.

Roy darted out his tongue slightly, giving the barrel a small lick, just wanted to taste the death a little. What he tasted was metallic, like blood. The priest was watching him with an unreadable face.

He cast up his gaze, looking at the kid who stood beside him. Stupid little Speedy flashed him a grin in return.

He tipped his head slightly, as a way of saying “go ahead”, before he closed his eyes.

And he waited, but nothing happened.

“Hum,” the priest made a cryptic hum before he drew out the gun.

Roy opened his eyes in confusion, right at the moment the priest lifted up the pistol and knocked him in the head.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 The sound woke him up, just a series of small faint sound. A chain of keys clanking in motion, a twist of lock. But for his new enhanced senses, the sound was dreadful, obnoxiously loud. Ringing inside his ears, and slashing through his brain.

Everything was loud to him right now, his own ragged breathing, the way his damn heart beating like a hammer banging on an anvil, the repressed sob coming from across the cell.

Everything was intensified and everything’s hurt, more than any wound or injury he had ever experienced in his life. He wondered would it ever stop.  _You know it would, it’s quite easy actually, just take your medicine as the doctor orders_.

Shut, the fuck, up. He snarled at the brat, not in his spiritual world but voicing it with his vocal system. It’s not quite working though. No voice was coming out. His throat was baked, his tongue hadn’t even felt like a tongue anymore, just some raw emery thing, heavy and abrasive.

The door of the call was opened. He hefted up his eyelids, the swollen of his eyes was long gone due to the healing process, along with his crippled legs, his broken arms and all the other physical wound. He didn’t try to move, body coiled up and rooted on the corner of the cell, as far away from the girl as he could get .

The creature walked into his cell, with some of his children waiting outside. No foot steps he could hear from this thing even with his enhanced senses. He stared blankly at the creature that was wearing the form of a man. He didn’t feel scare, he never did. Never was once scared of those evil beings, those depraved things, except maybe the one he could encounter in the mirror from time to time, the one who was not just depraved but weak and worthless.

Not this time though, this time he was winning, holding himself to be strong.

The smell couldn’t be escaped but it didn’t do shit to him anymore. Unlike the first few days, when they had tossed the girl into his cell, dropped her the way people would’ve thrown a piece of meat to a dog.

A black hair girl, bony and small, who wasn’t supposed to be here. “Found her following us, think she might’ve been looking for you,” one of the creatures had said as if he was doing him a favor.

The stupidity of it had made him furious. “Why are you here!” he had barked at the girl once the cell door had been closed again, not just angry he had felt, but something else, something luring and screaming of danger.

It wasn’t like anything he had ever felt, when the first flood had come and swallowed him up after he had been turned. “You’ve been born, my child,” the fucker had announced, once he had done dripping his vile old body fluid into him and loosened the grip on his mouth.

The changes had come within a split second, his inside was coiled up and roasting while his tattered human body had glued itself back together by unnatural force.

What he had felt that wasn’t longing or craving, wasn’t the urge he had once known. It was something primal, not just for pleasure, but a righteous physical need. It was his goddamn body telling him what he requires to function, to survive and to be strong. As his new adopted family.

Fuck those motherfuckers. He wasn’t one of them, and he would never be. At the first day, he had tossed the glass of blood they had brought to his cell. The glass had flown through the iron bars and broken against the wall outside his cell. He had surged forward as the moment the spilled blood had dripped from the wall to the ground, before he had known it, he had howled, clinging at the bars with his hand stretched out far. The second day he did exactly the same.

He had already beaten one craving for over five years now, no matter how powerful it was, he knew he could’ve beaten this new thing as well.

Then the girl was here. The poor little outcast who he had rescued from some bad guys just few days ago, along with the other human trafficking victims.

She was supposed to be with the Romanian woman he had met back in the city, who would’ve taken care of her since no one else could. But it seemed the little thing had sneaked out, tried to get back to him for unknown reason, and presumably followed him into the ship as he had been taken away by those damn bloodsuckers to god-fucking-knows-where.

Although the girl didn’t understand what he had said, but the harsh tone had been enough to make her flinched.

He had softened instantly. “Hey, hey! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he had reached out his hand, and the girl had inspected it for a second, before she rushed forward and grabbing it hard. “I shouldn’t have yelled, sorry about that. I was just…why are you here princess? You should be at home with Ioana.”

The girl had looked up at him and spoken in rapid speed, he didn’t understand a word she had said just as she couldn’t understand him. But she had seemed fine, didn’t look she had been hurt or particularly worrying.

And the way she spoke with massive body language was kind of funny. He had been smiling when the flood—the need—had came in ferocity.

The girl had trembled backward as he had pushed her away, eyes widened in surprise, and fear. As though she could’ve sensed it, or probably just seen it. The way his face had crumpled, the hard breathing, the sweat pouring over his forehead. The whiteness of fangs.

He didn’t want to push her. Fuck. He wanted to reach, to grab her, to taste.

 _Oh, it would be like a sweet dew of heaven._ There's a voice right next to him, he had thrown up his eyes abruptly, baffled by the familiar sound. And there he was, young and sprightly and perky, red in spirit with a little yellow in between.

 _It wouldn’t be like the nasty expired stuff the old bastard gave you, you know. This is fresh from the factory, a drink so good your nuts would explode!_ the boy had exclaimed in a comical manner, while marching circle around the girl.

“No,” he breathed out, “you’re not real.”

 _Rude_ , the kid had wrinkled his nose at him.  _I’m as real as the growling in your tummy_.

“No! You stupid little shit!” he had yelled. The girl couldn’t see it, but seemed to recognize that he wasn't yelling at her. Something had scared him, that’s what she had seen.

She had moved forward, and she had hugged him tightly, speaking in the language that he had never learned, doing her best to trying to help him, just as he had helped her.

“No no no,” he had wailed, chocking on his own sob--and his saliva--a little. His head had hunched down, propped at the warm little body that had been holding him, both as a way to block her out and clinging to the kindness.

“Please, please sweetheart, just get away from me, stay at the other side, will you? Just--would you listen to me? --Just _get the fuck away from me!_ ”

In the end, she did listen, after he had howled directly at her.

He had recoiled at the opposite side, didn’t try to move a muscle. Beneath the skin, there’s the smell. He could smell it clearly without trying, could also hear it, the throbbing of a young healthy heart, the circulation that ran inside the veins.

What had been provided for him was uncanny, and it was sensational. It riled up his inside, and the hunger he was carrying was a living, rabid creature with physical form; clawing with its sharp claw, howling at him frantically, doing nothing but just try to tear him apart.

The fangs needed to feed, so he fed it, bit deeply into his own arm, clutching the torn muscle with his teeth.

Eventually, he had worn out enough, there wasn’t an ounce of strength had left inside him. His body had withered without the normal human food and the real nutrition that his new depraved body was in need for.

The girl was only few steps away, but he was physically unable to be tempted to do anything.

I won. He told the bloodsucker who was standing right in front of him right now. The voice wouldn’t come out, and the smirk he was trying to pull wasn’t even remotely presenting, but it didn’t matter, it’s the thought that counted.

The old fucker regarded him for a moment. “I see,” he remarked thoughtfully, clearly had received his message of “go fuck yourself”.

“You don’t appreciate the food, I understand that is not easy for you.” he said to him. “But you need it, all my children do.”

I’m not your fucking child. He tried to say. I have beaten you, I have won. What else could you do.

“You need to eat,” he simply said, and he did what he did. he fed his children.

The girl with the dark hair and a pair of beautiful green eyes—Ana—was suddenly right before him.

No.

One of the wrinkled hand was holding the girl by her shoulder, while the other one was resting on her throat.

The index finger with the razor-sharp nail moved--No\--One quick precise scratch, and the rain was pouring.

The warmth splashed onto his face.

“ _No!_ ” he howled out, with his mouth opened wide.

Was he doing it to yell or was he doing it to catch the liquid, didn’t matter, he was drinking it.

No.

He took a gulp and a gulp and another, eyes closing in heavenly bliss, bathing in the life that was bestowed to him.

No.

One small, insignificant part of him was weeping, the same part that had been stupid enough to believe that he could’ve won, that there was even a chance for him to win. The part that thought he could’ve held himself to be strong, to be good as he's supposed to be.

The part hadn’t reached him, nothing could’ve reached him; as for this moment, all of his senses were narrow down in one thing and one thing only, and that was the need of feeding.

He pounded forward once the old one had dropped the lifeless body to him. He clutched to the body, buried his mouth into that soft, tiny neck.

He drunk it, swallowed it, devoured it; licked every single drop of it until there’s nothing left. The old one was long gone by the time he was finished.

With a full stomach and his returned senses, he looked at the girl. The one that had followed him as an attempt to help him, the one that had hugged him tightly with her own two arms.

The one he was supposed to save.

 _There’s a lot of blood coming from one tiny body,_ the kid with the red suit stated thoughtfully, _I think that means she’s healthy, like, she probably would’ve lived a very long life if she isn’t dead already._

And he roared, in grieve and hatred.

No more demon whispering in his ear anymore, it was within his body.

 

***

 

“Oh fuck,” he spited out the nasty liquid, glared dubiously at the glass he was holding. “What the ever-loving-fuck did you put in there? That is disgusting!”

“Just some energy powder,” the priest said. “I figured you probably wouldn’t have touched the food, so I put it in the water. Fang don’t die from malnutrition, but I would rather you don’t drain yourself.”

“How caring of you, padre,” he replied dryly, put the glass back onto the tray.

“So you don’t want me to dry up, huh? You just want to keep me alive and healthy in your medieval cell. Tell me, am I in your church or do you have some other secret lairs that you used it to keep your grand collection of evil beings? Assuming you really are a priest, and not just some weirdo supernatural hunter who dresses as a priest.”

Now with his memory had come back, he could recall exactly what happened, and there wasn’t a single part of it was making him happy.

 _Seriously, what kind of man would put a gun into somebody mouth and **doesn’t** shoot?_ the brat complained from his right side, with his hands held up exasperatedly, _Worst tease **ever**. _ Roy hummed vaguely and chewed his lower lip a little.

The metallic taste was gone, but he felt like he could’ve still traced it.

The real voice from the real terrible world had drawn him back from his trance. “I’m a priest, I can assure you.”

“So shooting monsters is just your side job.”

“It’s a job I have been assigned.”

“By God,” he stated knowingly. Eyebrows quirked up, he asked with mock interest, “How does it work, really, did the Load just show up one day and told you to destroy evil?”

“Yes, through two of his massagers who came from the congregation.”

Of course. “A congregation for vampire hunting, why am I not surprise,” Roy remarked dryly.

Back leaning on the wall, he gazed up at the priest. “Now what, are you going to preach to me until I abandoned my evil way? Is that how you guys do to the evil creature you have captured?

“No. I’m not sure how my brothers and sisters works, but normally I just shoot it where is fatal or perform an exorcism.”

The handcuffs on his hands rattled slightly as he clasped his fists. “Then what the fuck have you been waiting for,” he spited through clenched teeth, couldn’t help but feeling angry again. “Why do you keep me alive.”

“Because I have some questions for you,” the priest simply said.

And it didn’t help subsided his annoyance, his anger, his rage. “Oh for fuck's sake, I told you I didn’t kill those people and I don’t have a pack.”

“I believe you.”

“Then what more do you need to know,” he was growling. _Look like it's time for someone to take his medicine_ , the brat at his right side drawled with a wry smirk.

He didn’t know exactly how he was look like, but there’s no doubt that it was bad, with his ashy face and his eyes broadened in insensible rage. His fangs wasn’t showing at the moment, but he’s sure he was enough to look like a dangerous man-- _creature_ , the brat corrected helpfully, _a dangerous bloodsucking demonic creature, who is a drug-head. Dude, you are totally winning it_.

The priest, of course, didn’t seem a least intimidated by him. “You said you don’t feed, how,” he questioned in a somewhat authority tone. Whether he had figured since he was a servent of God, he was by far better than him ( _which, I think he certainly is, and also, a lots of lots of people too better than you_ , the brat chimed in), or was he just a jerk in general, Roy didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Those authority tones had rarely sat right with him.

He glared at the guy, retorted spitefully, “By not sticking any of my pointy things in people?” The guy hummed in thought.

“You mean you use blood bags.”

“I mean I don’t drink any of that shit, no matter how it packaged.” Fuck, it’s like the stupid priest had never listened to a word he said. It annoyed him, every fucking things about this situation annoyed him, and he just wanted to howl in anger or cry.

The priest was studying him. “But that’s what confuses me, I know a few things about Fang, and what I know is that they’re some nasty creatures who have poor impulse control, even worst than the wolves when it comes to eating. Sure they’re discreet, but they always find a way to feed, and that’s all they care about.”

“I don’t, okay?” he shook his head, not as a body gesture but just wanted to shake out the thing. The thing inside his skull that wasn’t quite right. He could hear it crawling, like a bug, or a legions of bugs.

The shake of his head was spreading to his body. “I just--fuck fuck fuck, where the fuck is it--” he was shaking while he was murmuring, and he suddenly remembered he had something that could help him with his problem.

He twisted his wrists rapidly to reach at his utility belt. The handcuffs was making it difficult to him, but he didn’t care whether his wrists were hurting, just doing his best to yank at the belt with his crooked fingers.

He hadn’t thought that was necessary for him to bring it along, he wasn’t supposed to go out long, but he did. He didn’t know when time was it right now, all he knew was that he’d been out long. Too long that the drug had worn off.

“Looking for this?”

Roy jerked up his head instantly. The priest was holding a tiny bottle of liquid.

“I found it in your belt,” he said, whirling the bottle slowly with his fingers, then held it in front of his face to inspect it closely. “Some mean stuff you've got here. One of the men I’ve known from the rehab visit is dead few weeks ago because of this.” Roy jumped up, despite how his legs were still weak and shaking.

“Well I couldn’t die, so just give me back my fucking stuff, or I swear to God--”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” The priest cut him off calmly. Dropped down the hand that was holding the bottle, he looked at Roy, “How long since you’ve turned.”

“What’s it got to do with you? Just fuck off, man, just give me my stuff then leave me alone!” Roy surged forward, his handcuffed hands were lifted and tried to reach the man. The priest held out his spare hand, blocking Roy off by pushing the hand steadily against his chest.

“How long since you’ve turned,” The guy asked again. Roy tried to get pass him, but the guy was able to keep him an arm away.

Some deep frustrated growl slid off his throat. “Eight months,” he answered through clenched teeth, kind of hoping that would be enough for the guy, and he would be done asking question and just give him his fucking drug.

Regardless of how little patience he had for this, the guy went on asking, “And you’ve only fed once.”

“Yes.”

“How long since you’re having drug problem.”

“Forever,” he spat out darkly, and right next to him, the brat was chuckling.

“So you are a Fang who is also a drug addict. Is it why you don’t need to feed? The drugs have blocked out your need?”

“Yes, padre,” he barked like a deranged dog. “I take my dose and I’m on the cloud, and when I’m on the cloud, I don’t think of shit like hungry or how I would like to chug a gallons of body fluid, so give me back my stuff _right now_ or I’m gonna start remembering how _fucking hungry_ I am!”

The corner of the priest’s jaw was lifted up a little, as if he was amused. “Can’t do that, not exactly approve on drug abuse, especially when we’re inside the house of God.”

“Oh you got to be…Are you fucking kidding me _you son of a bitch_?” he was yelling, and his brain was boiling up. Every part of his whole goddamn body were boiling up.

The physical form of him was shot at the guy before his mind could realize what was happening. A fist in the face terminated his attempt to grasp that fucking clerical suit.

His back slammed on the ground. The priest forced him down, crashing him with that awful body weight, arm pressing on his throat, just as the same way he did at the parking lot.

The priest looked at him with a quirked eyebrow, “Did you always lose it like this? You said you only ‘tried it once’, but I don’t suppose the hunger would just go way because you favor the white more. So what if the drugs wear off, aren’t you just going to be twice as hungry?”

The pain, pure, beautiful and nothing but physical, was bad enough, it made other things inside Roy ease off a little. “No--yes—I don’t--” he rasped, swallowed down an upcoming sob before he could be able to keep going. “--If it wears off, I just take another dose, okay? I don’t kill people for this, Jesus, I don’t--I _can’t_. I never lose it, not once. Not since I picked up the needle again.”

“What do you mean ‘ _again_ ’,”

All the raging energy within him was suddenly drained out, Roy closed his eyes, didn’t answer the question. But it would seem that the priest could see through the truth nevertheless.

“You’ve quit, haven’t you? You’ve quit before you turned.”

“Just give me my junk man," he said in a small faint voice, eyes fluttered opened to gaze at the guy, begging with his eyes that was slightly too hot and perhaps a little too wet. "I won’t hurt anyone, I only fed once, I swear.”

The priest pulled away from Roy before regarded him for a few seconds.

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood,” the priest said, “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

“What?” Roy stared at him blankly. The priest returned him a small smile.

“You know, I used to smoke, like a real chimney, nasty little habit I had picked up since I was a child, haven’t quite be able to quit even after the church has taken me in from the street. My former disliked it, said I should sow to please the spirit instead. I ignored it for a long time, don’t really see the problem, but I did quit, eventually.”

He was saying all this shit, but Roy didn’t understand a word of it. What the fuck was he playing? Roy sat up on the ground, glared at him incredulously.

The priest continued, “Now I've already known about how much the transformation changes the composition of the human body, but I’m wondering, that how much exactly could it affect the chemicals of the human brain. As far as I know, you guys could digest human food, though it couldn’t nourish you the same way as blood-feeding. And I’ve never seen a Fang died from malnutrition.”

“What…” what the hell is going on? He was baffled. _I don’t like where this is going_ , the brat murmured in fear.

Then the priest stared directly into his eyes. “What’s your name.”

“Roy.”

The guy acknowledged it with a slight nod. “You have some bad habits Roy, I think you should quit,” he informed Roy before he headed back to the door.

“What? No, _no no no no no--_ ”

The handcuffs were clinking as he stretched out his hands, Roy surged almost immediately, but the door had already been shut.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the Priest/Vam AU that nobody ask for.  
> Some mixed setting that Roy has had in here, 'cause I like both the Pre52 original background and the New52 setting that he's once lived on the street.

Even though the situation had been much clearer to him this time, when the door was opened again, he couldn’t help but tensed up a little, heart skipped a beat, with his body temperature which had already been low as a dead body—been low as a lowlife himself—got slightly dropped down.

He pressed his back further against the hard, cement wall; the surge of fear rose immediately, all out of instinct. A lovely conditioned response of an experimental doggy, except in this case, the poor animal had been stimulated with more sticks and stones than a repetition of dinner bell.

What now. The thought dashed through his alarmed mind. Although the guy hardly seemed to be the most terrible thing he had ever encountered, but shit happened, like it’d always happened. There’s no reason for him to expect whatever coming to him next wouldn’t just be a new kick-in-the-nuts.

And kick-in-the-nuts was basically what the bastard with the full collar suit had given him so far, by fucking imprisoned him and took away his drug, after he did kick him and punch him quite a few times and shoot him with bullets.

The instant dread faded as quickly as it had risen; without a hint of cowardice showed on his face, he watched the priest cautiously from his position on the floor.

The food tray that the guy had brought to him last time was lying upside-down at the foot of the door, along with the remains of a shattered glass. It got in the priest’s way as he had stepped into the cell. He took a glance at it, brushed it aside with a foot.

“Seems like you’ve thrown quite a temper,” he simply stated, hunched down a little with the new tray he was carrying, a glass of water and some sandwiches, just like before. He set it down on the middle ground between them.

“What do you expect,” Roy replied in a rasp voice. “You don’t take away drugs from a nasty drug-head, who also is a mean old bloodsucker, and think he would be happy and not pissed.”

“Touché,” the guy hummed and said. “At least you did eat the sandwiches.”

He did, once he had paced the cell like a trapped animal and growled in rage and spat an enormous amount of filthy words to no one for awhile.

The food hadn’t appeared to be the most appealing thing to him, even without the fact that it was kind of scattered on the ground since he had made a brilliant decision of throw it out of the tray. But he needed something, anything, to distract himself, maybe even trick his mind to settle down a little, to be a less hungry and craving.

He had grabbed a handful of scattered food, stuffed it into his mouth and devoured it. Fucking thing tasted as awful as it looked and it hadn’t helped shit. His stomach was full afterward but the hunger was intact, clawing from the deep of his throat, scrambling and scratching.

And he was right about how he couldn’t be able to keep the food down; only a moment later, he had rushed to the lavatory seat that was installed in the corner of this five-star hotel, puked his guts out, then crawled to the sink nearby, shoved his head under the faucet, let the water and the tears run over his face while the little ghost of his past had stood beside him and fulfilled his duty of existent which was to mock him.

He wondered how long it went, since he had eaten those last damn sandwiches, since the damn priest had left him here to suffer. It felt like it had been a whole day, it probably was.

“Did you make those sandwiches yourself, padre? Not that I want to be a critic or anything, but these are compete horse shit,” his gaze left the tray and turned back to the priest, looking dully at the guy.

“What would be real nice,” he uttered in the calmest and most sensible tone he could’ve mustered, “--is that you give me back my white, that’s all I’m asking.”

The priest tilted his head slightly. “I’ve already told you about the no drug policy, ‘house of God’, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’ve already answered your goddamn questions, what more do you want from me, holy servant of God?” the voice he was using didn’t have much heat, since the irrational rage had gone after it had its fun with him, now he was just kind of hollowed out.

There’s no doubt that the anger would be back any seconds from now, but at the moment he didn’t especially feel like raging; his throat was already sore from all the yelling and screaming earlier anyway.

“Are you enjoying this?” he looked at the priest curiously, lifted his shackled hands slightly as a gesture. “Are we getting a hard on by torturing some big bad monsters?”

“Is that how you see yourself? A big bad monster?”

 _Yeah, he wishes_ , the snarky little shit laughed at it. _Even some psycho in a hockey mask is more of a big bad monster than **this one**. People who were weak and useless couldn’t be too bad, they’re just pathetic._  He hadn’t presented himself next to Roy, standing in front of a different wall, jabbing a thumb at Roy’s direction while he acted as though he was talking to the priest.

“You have no idea how much of a big-bad I am,” Roy replied in a quiet tone, the chapped lips of his had cracked slightly as he stretched them to pull a wry smile. The priest hummed in thought.

“Haven’t you said you don’t feed?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t do bad stuff.” _True_ , the brat had to agree. “I killed, I stole, didn’t even have to grow myself a pair of new teeth to do so.”

“Who did you kill,” the priest asked in a calm, undisturbed voice. Roy shrugged.

“Do you know how long since I did my last confession, Father?” he didn’t answer but asked. The priest looked at him with patience, he let the suspense hovered in the air for a brief moment before he declared, “--Since never. I don’t do confession in a church, I’m a Navajo.”

 _Damn right you are,_ the brat chimed in immediately, encouraging him with a nod. _Keep telling that to yourself and everyone, and maybe one day you could really get past the fact that your people have kicked your little lily white ass out soon before you could have a chance to defile their sacred bloodline._

A cloud of annoyance shadowed his mind, he grasped his fist involuntarily, neck cranked aside curtly as though he was bitten by a damn bug.

There was nothing he could’ve said that the demonic little shit wouldn’t have turned it against him. It would be much easier to deal with the mocking if only he had his dose; everything was much easier to deal with when he had his dose.

“You’re Navajo?” the priest quirked his brows. Roy puffed out a vague snort.

“And you’re surprised because I’m white? That’s offensive, padre.”

“Father Todd,” the priest applied, “but you could call me Jason.”

Sure he would, and then they could sit down together, have a nice friendly chat while share a few drinks like a couple of pals. Came to think about it, maybe that was exactly what he should do, get on the guy’s good side so he could find a way to escape.

 _Even not for escape, I guess just the get-on-the-good-side part would be nice,_ the brat tapped his cheek with a finger as he was pondering. _You would like that, aren’t you? The guy is hot, we can both see that, and if he really is one of the good guys, maybe he could rub off some decency on you, or the other way around._

“Tell me, _Jason_ ,” snorted silently at the brat, he then said, emphasized the name just a little. “What are we playing here, what do you want from me.”

“Would you believe me, if I say I want to help?”

“Help me with what, Father?” he shook his head in puzzlement. “I’m sure I’m in no need for help until a crazy priest shot me, beaten me up and kidnapped me.”

“So you’re fine with the bloodlust. Because, what? You could always just shoot yourself up whenever you feel the need to feed?”

“Yes,” he spat darkly, couldn’t see how the fuck this was the priest’s problem. He hadn’t realized before, but it came to his notice that his hands was shaking, although distantly. It could hardly have happened only a second or so, he probably was trembling this whole time; as if he had lived on a ship for quite a while, it’d become really hard to tell when he was floating or not.

“I have been doing just fine,” he told the priest, in a voice that he considered was calm, “everything is under control. I didn’t stroll around at night, grab whoever on the street and bite them, isn’t that good enough for you to leave me alone?”

The priest looked at him for a moment. “So you don’t hurt people, you just hurt yourself.” he stated, as if he could even begin to know a shit.

The priest didn’t know shit, because what he had said wasn’t remotely true.

Of course he had hurt a lot of people. Ollie for one, definitely had had a terrible strike on his ego back when he’d found out how the stray he had brought home had disgraced him; the people he had stolen in the city when he had wanted the booze and all of those beautiful technology things; more people he had stolen and robbed in the street after the tribe had had enough of a white boy who had been defiling their land with his urban stuff and finally kicked him out; the life he had taken after he’d gotten kicked out of yet another home and started doing works for the government to provide himself; the friends that had given up on him once they’ve recognized his true sordid color.

The list seemed to go on and on.

 _And don’t even let us ever, ever forget about **the girl** bro_, the brat reminded him kindly as if he could be capable of.

Roy gazed up at the priest, eyes cold and spiteful. “Save your sympathy for somebody else,” neck stretched forward, he hissed slowly like a venomous snake, “You don’t know shit about me. I am a junkie once, I can be a junkie again, at least this time when I’m doing it, it could be a favor to humanity. I’m not some stupid child who shoots himself up just because he’s sad and lonely and doesn’t know better. I know what I’m doing here, I don’t require you help.”

“Okay,” the priest acknowledged curtly. “You don’t want my help, then I won’t help.”

With hope filled his heart instantly , Roy dragged himself up a little, leaning further toward the guy’s direction. “You’re going to let me go?”

“No,” the guy said, flashed him a faint fucking smile, as though he was sorry. “I want you to be here, and I want you to get clean.”

Roy shook his head.

“No,” he breathed out while he shook his head again, the shakiness floated him like a tempestuous sea. His eyes broadened in fear and all of the contaminated blood had seemed to be drained out of his depraved body.

Roy didn’t know who was screaming furiously, was it the brat or was it just himself screaming inside his own head. The Jason guy just looked at him with a composed face.

“You know, I’ve known quite a few vegetarians who visit the church, men and women, some of them were a glutton before, never have thought they could’ve ever given up the meat. It’s kind of like that, isn’t it?” the priest was saying in a casual manner. “You haven’t fed for eight months, yet you’re still running around. It seemed to me, the feeding isn’t necessary. it’s a primal instinct, sure, but it is also in a dog’s instinct to bark at stranger and chewing stuff and pissing in everywhere, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t be taught better.”

“So that’s what you want to do? You’re gonna _train_  me like a _dog_?” _You know what I think?_ the brat applied in a solemn voice, _I think we should just slit that beautiful stupid throat already._

It didn’t sound like the worst advice that his worst enemy had ever given. Now with the rage was back, swept over his body and raising up the hungriness and need, he would’ve pounced at the guy in wrath if only he wasn’t so weak at the moment.

The priest snorted humorously. “I think you’ve already trained yourself pretty well. You’ve been shooting yourself up whenever you wanted to feed. I can see you’ve convinced that it is the only way, but if you could live without the blood for eight months, then I think you can keep doing it without the help of heroin.”

“No no no, _you don’t understand_ ,” he growled with his teeth bared, “It won’t work, _it will never work_ , you don’t have a clue of how hard to get rid of it the first time, you don’t know _nothing_ , you _dumbfuck_ \--! you think I could be able to quit again with this blood-feeding shit is going on?”

“I think we should give it a try, it will be good to know if the bloodlust of a Fang could be conquered by will. And I do know a few things about drug addition, my mother was an addict.”

“So what, you’re going to tell me how she’s clean now and living a much more healthy life?”

“No, she never quit once, got herself OD'ed on the street when I was a kid, so the way I see it, you’ve already had the lead.”

The information had slightly taken him aback; Roy gulped and hunched toward the ground, murmuring and shaking, “It wouldn’t…it won’t work, trust me. Please just let me go, just find yourself another Fang to do your experiment. Just leave me alone, please, _please please please please please…_ ”

“Eat some food and stay hydrated,” the priest simply replied, picked up the old food tray and headed back to the door. “I don’t know have you noticed or not, but it’s already been the second day. Have some faith, Roy, and you might survive.”

He doesn’t get it. Roy croaked out a desperate cry.

“You don’t get it, do you? I don’t _survive_ , I never did, I just _won’t die_.”

“That makes two of us,” the priest puffed out a faint, amused snort, before he left and closed the door again.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t revolting that he felt when he was looking at the abomination, the thing was squirming and hissing, baring his sharp natural weapon at him, stretched his neck as far as he could, trying his best to roll him off and get to him.

The fact that all of his limbs were crippled by bullets and he was nailed on the ground by a heavy foot didn’t seem to enter his rotten mind; he wasn’t even actually intended to fight back anymore, with the evilness that had occupied his body and soul, all he wanted was to taste, to bite, feed himself so he could’ve provided the devil with more strength.

Jason looked at him from above, with the same amount of sympathy he would’ve given to a rabid dog.

It wasn’t his fault that he was like that, at least not at first. The thing had seemed pretty much human just a moment ago. They had had quite a few conversations before, the young guy had been nice, even charming, until Jason had exposed him and he had reveled his true form, pounced at Jason without a second of hesitation.

That’s the problem with Fang, always had so little self-control, though to be fair, it wasn’t just them, most of those cursed things had shared the same impulse problem.

Considered how those victims were selected smarty and the act of murder itself were actually executed in a more or less cautious way, plus the fact that the Fang had acted quite sensible just before he had realized that his sin wasn’t so hidden anymore, it hadn’t seemed to Jason that the demonic thing could still reach a point of salvation.

But still, due to the new found knowledge he had learnt from one of their kind, he asked, “If there’s even a part of you inside that hasn’t been consumed by evil, here’s your last chance to repent.”

Unsurprisingly, the creature responded with nothing but hissing, stretching and lifted his head violently, making a useless attempt to aim that big jaw at Jason’s throat that was far beyond his reach.

Jason let out a tired signed, put a bullet in his stomach to get the Fang to focus.

The Fang screamed in pain, “ _You motherfucker!_ ” And the creature was speaking with words now, so his method was working like a charm just like always.

“Repent, then, and turned to God,” he told the Fang simply. “so that your sin may be wiped out.”

“ _Fuck your God, you dirty piece of--_ ”

“All right then,” for the wages of sin is death; he blew off the sinner’s head.

It wasn’t like there would be any different anyway, he wasn’t looking for another Fang to keep at the basement in his church.

Feeding granted the Fang the unholy strength and capability, and the more they fed the more ferocious they became.

No matter how the answer was, Jason would still end him, known it from the moment he had fanged out that the evilness had taken over the shell and the sin shall be punished.

Since he was always more of a practical person than those truly forgiving one, he would rather save his compassion for those who might still have a soul to be saved.

He moved his foot away from the body, pulled out a handkerchief in his pocket, cleaned his gun, then left the building.

 

***

 

The third time he entered the cell, the redhead was right in the middle of the rage stage.

There was some distant shouting inside the cell, before Jason pulled out his key and opened the door. It sounded like the guy had actually engaged in an unpleasant conversation with someone, even though he was the only one in there until Jason stepped in.

Mildly, he recalled the moment when he put his gun into the guy’s mouth, the way Roy had darted his gaze away, taken a brief look at something before he had turned those green eyes back to Jason and seemed to be ready to meet his fate. Jason wondered what the guy had been seeing, at that moment, or more likely, for quite some times; he wondered what form that the devil had taken to plague that soul.

The redhead was positioning himself at the far side of the cell, facing the door directly with his back pressed against the wall as he did before.

The food Jason had brought in his last visit was gone, seeing how the guy had the energy for standing instead of slumping on the ground, he took it as the redhead had actually eaten the sandwiches without puke it out, or at least not completely.

As the instant the door was opened, Roy jerked up his face, his shackled hands were holding on his head, possibly had been yanking at his red locks quite brutally just a second ago.

The tray that he brought last time, which was slightly dented from what Jason could only assume had gotten roughed up, was now lying on the ground, accompanied by some pieces of the second broken glass. “Glad I brought a plastic cup this time,” Jason said while putting down the new set of food and water.

Roy lowered his hands from the sides of his head. “ _I don’t need your fucking food--_ ” he gritted out, voice was dark and unshaken, unlike his body which was quivering vaguely.

The pair of green eyes that had the intensity to kill gleamed with fury, it’s kind of like there’s a forest fire burning in there.

Not saying it was a bad sight to look at, since the eyes were actually quite nice whether the guy was furious or not, but it probably would be better if the hellish flame didn’t incinerate all of the greenness.

Jason mused halfheartedly while Roy was growling, “Just give me a dose, not the fucking food, _damn it!--_ You want to help me? Then _do it_ and give me my _dose!_ ”

“Haven’t you said you don’t need my help?”

“ _Fuck you, you son of a bitch!_ ” the comeback was spat out within a second. The redhead was enraged, riled up as a wounded animal.

With a thunderous look on his pale face, he urged forward, but only with his upper body, “You want me to _beg_ , is that it? You want me to beg and ask for your _mercy_?” The handcuffs were rattled as he clutched his fists; yet he didn’t move far, feet rooted on the ground as though he was trying to kept himself steady.

Although with the guy’s condition, it was sure that the self-restraint wouldn’t have existed long, but it was still admiring that he could even possess some.

Jason watched him with interest.

“If there is anyone’s mercy you might need to ask for, I’m sure it won’t be mine.”

“Here we go, converse the heathen,” the redhead retorted with a sharp, hysterical laugh. The outstretched smile on his pale face was morbid and unbalanced, he shook his head a little then snorted at himself. “All I wanted was to catch a bloodsucker, instead I was caught by the church. Why things couldn’t just be easy for once?”

“I've never had the intention to converse you, or anyone for that matter,” Jason clarified plainly without much thought. The redhead snorted at him this time.

He studied the guy for a moment before he said, “I caught the killer you and I both have been looking for.” Quickly, the redhead wavered a step forward, eyes widened and burning with some kind of expectation.

“Where is he? Where did you put him?”

“To where he belongs,” Jason simply replied, didn’t really see the problem until Roy stared at him for a few seconds. “I told you I don’t have a habit to bring home the evilness. It’s my mission to destroy them, not nurse them.”

“Are you shitting me you goddamn _motherfucker?_ ” the redhead looked like he wanted to strangle him right here right now. He did, actually, make an effort for it, surging at Jason with his arms stretched out, intended to grip him by his clerical shirt.

Jason yanked his wrists down as the second he came close, shifted aside and grasped his shoulder in return.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Roy huffed out a pained grunt.

The metal door made a loud thud as he rammed the redhead into it; he weighed down at the guy, forcing Roy’s head against the door with his right palm, while the left arm pressured the guy by his back, elbow dug deep into those withered back muscles.

“Damn you, you son of a bitch!” no doubt that the pressure on his back was causing him pain, but he didn’t seem a bit deflated, probably it’s because he had been already in pain for quite some times and gotten used to it anyway.

Regardless of how the side of his face had squeezed hard at the door, the guy twitched his head toward Jason as best as he could, spat at him venomously, “You couldn’t even spare me a bullet back then, but _now_ you have to be some kind of avenger of God? Did you know how _hard_ to track down one of those bastards?”

In fact he did.

Fang were discreet, like all forms of evil, tricky and wicked. They were one of the first things he had encounter ever since he had taken up the mission. Rough experiences, powerful and vicious enemies. Not easy to caught, and once you lost them you’ve lost them for good.

Though the one he had just shot hadn’t been especially cunning, a new-born that wandered into town, leaving the bodies everywhere because he hadn’t been old enough to know how to clean up his left-over, an infant who had gotten abandoned by his creator once his creator had gotten bored of him and just decided to leave him and found himself another toy.

The orphan had been hungry, and chosen the homeless shelter as his diner. Jason had met him in the soup kitchen before, known him as a nice, young man who had just moved into the city and liked to help the people on street.

Lots of people had been there to help at night, and there’s no tell which one was a good-hearted human and which one was the nocturnal creature with a hungry stomach; not until he had made the connection, found out who had been there when the victims had come to the shelter the last time, then he had tracked the sinner down in his place and confronted him.

“I’ve had a simple life,” the Fang had said after he had realized what Jason had known, “And it was taken, replaced by a _new one_ , a _glorious one_. Those scums you said? They’re _nothing_ , not even compared to my old self. You think anyone would’ve missed them? Cared about them?” the creature had laughed. “They’re the lowest of the food-chain, Father. They’ve already thrown their lives away, I was merely doing them a favor by made some use of them.”

The sinner had rested his case, so Jason had put him where he's sentenced.

Whether the creature had been a human once, whether he had the goodness within his heart before the evil had condemned his soul, these kinds of thoughts hadn’t really entered his mind.

The creature had made his decision to sin, the choice was his and his alone. _The righteousness of the righteous will be upon himself,_ just as his former had said, _and the wickedness of the wicked will be upon himself_. There’re a lots of other things the old man had said back before he died, and Jason could easily hear the man’s voice right next to his ear whenever he had recalled those words.

Even with the exact same tone, it had sounded different then the man had actually said it to him back in the days. Probably because he wasn’t angry with the man anymore, had given up that particular part of anger, stopped blaming the man for committed no crime whatsoever but just holding him back on track and denying his right for revenge.

The redhead struggled rabidly; he had no choice but pressed harder, keeping him at bay. That somewhat clever mouth was barking a bunch of nasty words at him, but Jason had kind of figured that’s just what he did, bark but didn’t have the appetite to bite, unlike the one he’d taken out hours ago.

The Last time Jason had seen the fangs showed in his mouth was after he had put a bullet in this guy, and that was the only time so far in these past three days.

Roy was raging, sure, but that was the kind of rage he knew, had seen it so many time in the little apartment he’d lived so many years ago; a pain reaction of a chaotic mind, a mind that had been plagued by disease.

“ _You little piece of shit,_ ” she would’ve shouted, bulged her once beautiful eyes with hatred whenever she had found out he had hidden the drugs and stolen the money from her wallet to buy themselves something with actual nutrition.

No matter how angry she was, she had never given him the bruises, never had dealt with crap the same way as the man she had married.

Poor thing was docile, sweet and powerless, with no brutality in her bones, she never had the strength to fight back, never had stood against her abuser and herself.

And it appeared to him, that was exactly what the redhead here was inclined to do, be against himself.

“Why would you want to catch another Fang anyway,” Jason asked, “you still haven’t told me.”

He pressed the redhead back against the door when the guy had made another effort to shrug him off. Although Jason doubted this specific Fang would’ve actually taken a bite at him, but he’d learned from their first fight, that this one could be quite dangerous even without the sharp teeth or the unholy power which he didn’t possess due to the lack of feeding.

Sure Jason had quite a thick skin, but he wasn’t exactly indestructible and also wasn’t looking for some bruises on the face since it would’ve only raised questions in the eyes of the church members.

It wasn’t enjoyable for him to force the guy down, so he really hoped Roy would’ve just calm down, to make it easier for himself.

“ _Let go of me,_ ” the redhead hissed, trying to throw his head back. Jason sighed internally and banged his head on the door.

Another loud thud, then the poor guy went limp immediately; not unconscious, because Jason didn’t want him to be, like to still be able to have a conversation with him.

“I believed you might have a reason to want to catch another fang, so why don’t you just tell me?” Jason asked him again.

Knowing the fact that he wouldn’t be able to fight him off, Roy answered this time, ground out the words through clenched teeth, “Because I want--I _need_ to--find _him_ , okay? I need to find the fucker who _did this to me_. I don’t know where he is, but they know, some of them, they know, and they could lead me back to him.”

Jason regarded him for a moment.

“How did you turn.”

“It doesn’t matter, why does it matter,” Roy spat out in annoyance. “I’m done talking with you. If you’re not here to shoot me up, then just piss off, just fucking piss off _just leave me the hell alone!_ ”

This time when he began to struggle, Jason did let go of him, let the redhead shrugged his hands off, dashed away as the moment he was set free.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Jason asked calmly, knowingly, watching the Fang retreated to the far side of the cell. The guy didn’t look scared, just annoyed and irritated and apparently didn’t want anything to do with him. “I know what you’re doing here it’s not easy. And I also know it wouldn’t especially feel easier if you think you’re doing this alone.”

Roy responded with an acid snort, back pressed against the cement wall, since that was the only thing that could’ve held him steady.

“What _I’m_ doing here, it’s against my will, padre,” he declared in a mock reasonable tone.

The pair of green eyes were grim, shadowed in a way that was common in this particular city. He puffed out a dry laugh eventually, after he held gaze with Jason for a moment.

“I was—am— _was_ a vigilante,” he suddenly said, shook his head a little with a sarcastic look on his face, changing his words as though he couldn’t say for sure.

The hostility within him seemed to be drained out as well as the irrational anger. Roy slumped slowly on the ground and told him, “I was doing those hero works with my…with the guy who picked me up from the street, have myself some hero buddies and everything. Until I lost it, all of it, you know how it is with junkies, no one would ever want them around.” The redhead flashed him a smile, bleak and faint, so small it barely existed.

Seemed to be confirmed that Jason did understand the meaning, he continued, “I screwed up, got kicked out of the little good guys club, got kicked out on the street. Then I got cleaned, once I’ve realized how big of a screw-up I was-- _am_. After that, I was doing nothing but a shitty job for a while, it paid well, but being a stupid black-op agent is never my childhood dream, never really good at taking orders from the big guys anyway, so I quit and started doing my thing.”

Jason nodded in response. “You said you’ve killed.”

“Yeah, some terrorists and shit, not that they didn't deserve it, it’s all for the good of the country or whatever.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked, mainly out of curiosity, “Taking those lives in the name of justice?” Roy tipped his head slightly, looking at him with eyes that seemed to be way too sober for a junkie.

“Have you killed anything that wasn’t a supernatural thingy, Father?”

“No,” he replied.

“Have you ever wanted to?”

“Not recently.”

Roy flicked him another smile in response, still bleak and faint but with a little bit of amusement inside, before picked up his track, “Anyway, I was…”

“Doing your thing, you said.”

“Yes, I was doing my thing, running around, shut down some underground operations, drug dealing, arms sales, human-trafficking, fighting the evil and stuff. It didn’t…it couldn’t changes the fact that I’m a fucked-up, but it felt like at least I was doing something useful— _being_ something useful.”

He paused, eyes gazing at the memory within his own mind; Jason watched him patiently, he didn’t stop for long, possibly because that time in his life hadn’t existed long enough until it was destroyed.

Roy started again, in a tone that was light with humor, “Eight months ago, I was chasing some bad guy out of the country, took care of them then caught myself another case to work on, a human-trafficking case, and guess what? The trafficker wasn’t just selling those women and girls to work, but also doing the food-delivery for some old fuckers with pointy teeth. I, for one, never had much supernatural experience, haven’t had guess that, so I just did my whole heroic thing, and do you know what happened next?”

“They were pissed off,” he took a educated guess.

“Damn right they were,” the redhead confirmed with a curt laugh. “They’re enraged, so they found out who was responsible for spoiled their dinner plan and grabbed him. You would think they'd have a feast on that little human scum before they kill him, wouldn’t you? Well, they kind of did feasted a little, but that's not all they've done. There're a lot of them. All those little ones have beaten the crap out of the guy, broken him up, then the big one ensured that the guy has stay broken for all eternity.”

“So it is revenge you're seeking for? You want to find the one who turned you and make him pay for what he done?”

“Well, what else could I do?” the redhead replied casually. “Are you going to tell me I should just turn my other cheek?”

He didn’t respond to that, revenge was futile, damning no one but the avenger’s soul.  _Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold,_ that’s what his former had told him, when he had first found out what his apprentice had been doing after he had come back to life.

The wrath of vengeance would always be there, but he had found its purpose, known he should use it to serve instead of serving it.

But the rule for the unholy creature was different, since those who sin apart from the law will also perish apart from the law, it wasn’t technically a crime if the redhead Fang had killed one of his own, not in Jason’s opinion anyway.

Disregarded the question, he inspected the redhead for a moment. The hatred toward his enemy was strong, but Jason didn’t think the Fang that turned him was what he hated the most.

“Is that how you’ve considered yourself?” he pointed out, “Not just a big bad monster but also a _broken_ thing?” How many time, he wondered, that the poor woman, the one who never be healed--the one he was unable to save from the street before its coldness and cruelty had destroyed her body and soul with dark temptation--had look at the mirror with that exact same hate.

Roy didn’t answer, instead he asked, “Do you consider yourself a good man, padre? A good man who would help the other when the other needs help?”

“I would like to think so.”

“Then do me a favor, good Father Todd,” the redhead looked at him with a pair of tender eyes, held up his shackled hands and pointing at his temple, “Put the bullet in where it belongs, that’s how you could help.”

The chapped, pale lips had twitched up slightly; a smile that was soft and doleful, hollow without hope.

“Not today, Roy.” Jason simply replied, “Maybe next time.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_What’s your plan_ , the brat asked him, standing a few feet away, arms drooped aside his body, looking at him with a serious expression.

There’re some strong enthusiasm glinted in the kid’s eyes, as though he would’ve done anything to help the second Roy had given the word.

He’d never seen the look at first hand, but he guessed that’s how he’d looked like when he’d still had the illusion about how he had been given that red archer suit because it fits.

 _“What’s your plan, man, what do you need me to do,_ ” the way he would’ve stood by Ollie’s side and asked the man, trying so hard to prove that he was worthy of his place, before he’d come to realized that he had never had the place to begin with.

If he could’ve seen for himself, he probably would’ve found the eagerness, the desperation which was barely hidden, was painful. And it was, seeing the mimic of it coming from his very own funhouse mirror.

 ** _What’s your plan, man,_** the brat said impatiently, the tone was spot on but what underneath was artificial; nothing but a joke.

 ** _What do you need me to do?_** he was asking in a grave manner, but for Roy, it only sounded like he was shrieking with laughter.

“What the fuck could you do, you’re _nothing_ , you’re not even real,” he snarled without looking at the kid, kept pacing around with his head hung down.

The brat pouted at him.

 _I could do a lot of things dude, there’s **so much I can offer** , especially moral support._ It was so damn hilarious, the little shit couldn’t help himself from giggling when he spat out the last part.

 _But seriously man, you gotta have some kind of a plan? You wouldn’t actually just want to sit here and let the priest screw you over_.

“He’s…he said he want to help,” Roy muttered, since he couldn’t actually cross his arms and hug himself tight, the best he could do was tugged his restrained hands close against his chest.

“Maybe he’s right, I could…maybe I can do it.”

 _Really,_ the brat snorted, _you really believe you could just give up the drugs and don’t feed._

“I quit it once, I could…I didn’t…I didn’t feed again.”

 _Uh, yeah, because you were stoned, duh,_ the brat pointed out reasonably. _Do you really wanna stop and **test** the outcome? _ That’s how the brat had questioned, with the hidden message of “ _Do you dare_ ”.

Body shrinking in fear, he shook his head violently. The memory was vivid without the drugs; even without the part of his first feeding, what had come after that, was still something he would rather not to recall so clearly.

It’s not though he had a choice, when there’re no drugs he needed within his system. It wasn’t hard to remember everything, including those first few days when he had wokened up, after the fucker had dumped him out of the den.

He had been brought out of his prison after he had had his first feed; when some of the bloodsuckers had entered his cell and pried the little body away from his arms, he had let them, just watched in silence when they had toss her aside. He didn’t do shit about it. What’s the point anyway, it’s not like he could’ve done anything to take her back.

The bloodsuckers had yanked him out, dragged his ragdoll of a body to the oldest one.

“Welcome to the family,” the fucker had said from his seat, believed with certainty that since he had been granted the juice, had known the supreme taste, he sure would’ve knelt down, sucked his old rotten dick and begging for more.

A small push from the back, then he had knelt down without breaking a sweat. The fucker had come to him, smiling with a sick kind of parental love until the moment he jolted up and shred a large piece of neck skin with his new pointy teeth.

The bloody skin with a bit of muscles he caught with his mouth tasted as vile as the old-fuck himself, and he had wanted more of it--all of it--wanted to shred the creature piece by piece for the thing he had done, for the thing he had made him done.

The miscalculation of his anger ( _Such a redhead,_  the brat had commented at one point) had cost the old one a great deal of pain, but the wound was far from fatal, and even though the recent blood-feed and the rage was enough to made him went on berserker state, the best he could do was kill some of those other bloodsuckers, not against them all.

“Cast him away,” the old one had proclaimed simply, once he had been held down. He didn’t reckon the similarity, not until he got stuffed into a wooden crate and shipped down to some random country.

The large crate wouldn’t crack no matter how hard he rammed against it, he didn’t know where he had been sent to, hadn’t had focus enough to know how long the trip had taken; he was accompany by no one but himself, there’s no sound coming from the real world, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and roaring, and the voice of a children outside, taunting him through the wood, as though he was sitting on top of the crate, weighting down on him, just to ensure there’s no way for him to escape.

When the oxygen had finally run out, he fell into sleep. All the images and noises had merged in together, warping and whirling, jumping from scene to scene.

He was alone inside the old wooden house, the only place that was intact, while the forest outside was burning; then the next second he was with the tribe who took him in, somehow the people had bathed him with spirits, danced around him as his body was set on fire, the scene was distorted but the torment was real.

Brave Bow was watching him serenely while he was writhing and shrilling in pain; it was a ritual, he realized, that they’re trying to lift the curse, to cleanse the sin within the wrong one.

“ _What have I done to deserve this,_ ” he had croaked, demanding for at least an answer, “ _What’s **wrong** with me?_” But then everything changed again.

He was just about to fill the junk into his veins before the man had come in, accusing him the second he saw it, questioning him but didn’t care to listen.

It wasn’t the usual stuff that the needle in his hand was carrying; the fix he was about to have wasn’t nasty and reeked of poison, it was red in glory, thick and majestic, affluence of life. Something that promised to provide strength instead of ripping it away.

He caught a glimpse of the small little body that was lying at the corner of the house, then he returned his gaze to Ollie.

“ _Cast him away,_ ” said the blond-haired man with the goatee; but it wasn’t Ollie, or the creature, or Brave Bow, it was all of them, even with a little bit of his father inside, melded into one, eyes filled with the same disappointment and loathing.

Finally, he jolted back into reality when one of the dock workers had opened the crate.

He had leaped onto a worker once the air had brought him back to life, running by nothing but the instinctive hunger. The man underneath him had been screaming in dread, and he would’ve killed the guy, would’ve drained him, if the guy’s pals hadn’t had jumped in and taken a swing at his head with a wrench.

The hot pain had turned his attention to the second guy. “Shit!” As the moment he snarled in anger, the guy had yelped, instantly trying to get the hell out of the warehouse.

Fortunately, it was daytime; he had reached his arm from the inside of the door, trying to grip the running man--the prey\--by his back, and screaming as the second that his skin touched the sunlight outside and started to burn.

He had stumbled backward, retreated inside with some regained senses in his head. The first guy he had attacked had gone limp on the ground, screaming and kicking his legs out, trying to get away from him when he had gotten closer.

The guy was big, way fatter than him; he had ripped off the guy’s jacket, leaving nothing but a torn apology, then thrown the jacket over his head, vaulted away before the one that had fled outside could’ve come back with more people and weapons to bring down the monster.

After that, he had found his way into town, doing his best to hide into all the shadow he had been able to find. What then, he didn’t know, didn’t actually think about it, until the night come and the huger was roaring, committed mayhem within him.

The pain had been unbearable, didn’t seem to be a much better option than burn under the sun if he didn’t do something about it.

A hospital, that’s what he should go first; the thought had come to his chaotic mind when he had wrecked his brain into think of an acceptable way to feed. He had broken in to a nearest hospital and gone for the supply. But the moment he had picked it up, he couldn’t bring himself to drink, his mouth had watered and he had wanted nothing but puke.

He had shoved the blood bag back at where it was, run out on the street and swallowed a handful of painkiller he had taken from the hospital instead. It had helped, he had realized, but only so little.

The pills had worn off more sooner than he wanted it to be; he had only been able to figured out what foreign country he had been shipped into, before the pain had hit him again, even more ferocious this time.

 _You should really think before pissed off your new adopted family,_ the brat had said to him. _Who knows, maybe this time they actually have an interest to keep you, since you’re sharing their blood and all._

Shut, up. He had growled in response. They are not my family.

The brat had sighed with compassion. _That’s just sad isn’t it? To think this probably is the only time there's some place you truly might have a chance to fit in._

A hot streak of pang had struck him before he could’ve snarled at the kid.

While he had hunched down and gnashed his teeth, the little shit had been saying, _hurts, huh? Too bad there ain’t no easy fix for this time, except,_ the brat had trailed off, eyes darted aside meaningfully, right as the moment Roy’s face had jerked up in a twitch and something on the street had bumped into his sight.

It had happened no more than a second, but he did forget about the nausea, the hot, whirling pain, when he had watched a dealer handing the junk to some guy.

_Well, it wouldn’t be my first choice of option, but if you really rather to be the weakling you always were instead of being real strong for once, then be my guest brother, since we both know you have to have something one way or the other._

“Yeah, yeah you’re right,” he had uttered, before running down the street, jumped the dealer and taken all of the white he was carrying; after being clean for five fucking years, he was using it again, and it felt no longer than yesterday.

And boy, did it work.

He had been functioning well enough, he had found his way back on state and could actually do something to try to track down those bloodsuckers, the pain had been tamed, and now it was set free, more monstrous and hateful than ever, striking him with a vengeance.

He couldn’t tell which was the worst, the withdrawal of drugs or the lack of feeding, it barely seemed there’s a difference.

 _You have to stop it_ , the brat said with a cold expression, almost demanding. _You don’t **want** to get rid of it this time, or have you changed your mind?_

“No,” he growled.

 _Then_ _get the hell out_ , the brat growled back exasperatedly.

But how, he was thinking; then the brat was laughing his ass off once Roy had laid eyes on the thing he should’ve noticed from the start.

 _Four fucking days,_ the brat complained with a snort,  _and we could’ve gotten off on day two._

Although it was funny that he would’ve missed something that literally right in front of him, he didn’t laugh. Give him a piece of metal and he could’ve broken the handcuffs in just a few hours, but it’s not like he could’ve done it with a sharp piece of glass.

 _Don’t be thick now,_ the brat rolled his eyes, _you know exactly what you should do with it._

“Yeah,” he did know.

It would be easy, he knew the drill; it hardly was the first time he’d broken out of a prison, or killing someone with something far less dangerous than this.

He knelt down slowly, reached out his hands to the small pile of broken glass; the priest never had cleaned it after Roy had broken the glass, twice.

Whether it was just a serious rookie mistake from someone, who, according to himself, didn’t have a habit to take prisoner, or did he really have that much confident of himself and didn’t consider Roy much of a threat ( _a **weakling** ,_ the brat had whispered into his ear while he was wondering absently, _what threat could a useless little junkie have posed_ ), he didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

There’s no way he could’ve taken down the priest by combat, he had to do what he did best, what he would have gotten the advantage. The glass pieces were way too small to strike deep, let along the fact that the priest couldn’t even be stopped by an arrow went straight into his shoulder.

The only way he might’ve made it work, it’s by aiming at the eye; long-range, one shot, blinded the guy with the piece of glass then headed to the door, don’t try to engage into a battle, unless he necessary had to.

A _nd if things have to come to that, then you know what you have to do,_ the brat instructed _, slash the neck, sever the artery with a second piece of glass_.

When the door opened the fourth time, he had already been waiting.

The small clanking sound made him swallow; he couldn’t say for sure that his heart was beating faster or not, dumb thing never had seemed to slow down even for a second, thumping and wrecking his ribs riotously.

The door cracked opened; he didn’t move, standing still at the end of the cell, hands lifted slightly, indistinctly, in front of his body, each palm were hiding a piece of glass inside.

He hoped the guy would be stunned enough, he wouldn’t fight back too quickly.

The guy was trying to help him, it’s bad enough he had to lose an eye for this, there’s no need for it to get bloodier than it strictly necessary.

Fuck, he was trying to help him. His grip loosened up a little.

 _I can’t believe this,_ the brat was annoyed.

_Do you seriously believe he was going to help you? When did you ever have help when you needed the most?_

Good point. He gulped.

_Just get the hell out of here when you still have the chance, when you still have your love for the Chinese white more than **anything.** Once we’re out of here, we can shoot you up and we can keep tracking the old-fuck. You can never get clean again, you don’t **ever** want to get clean again. You want to know what would happen if you do? _

He darted his eyes at the kid. The kid stared at him grimly.

_If you’re not a junkie anymore, than what would you be? A plain old bloodsucker? A **child killer**?_

No.

He exhaled slowly, calmly, pushed away all the thoughts and did nothing but focus. Just the eye, one shot, do not engage in a close combat.

He moved the instant the door was wide opened and the man was in sight.

A loud, deranged bawl, he surged forward with his fists clenched. _Oh fuck me--just--fuck me,_ the little shit covered his face in pain when the priest caught Roy’s forearm, diverted him, pressed his back and shoulder then rammed him hard onto the ground.

Yes, he snarled viciously at the kid, arms trapped underneath his own body while his fists were still clenched, fuck you, you fucking piece of shit.

“Seems like you’re in a bad mood tonight,” said the priest from above, voice no more different than the past three days.

He growled in anger and twisted violently, for the reason that he was furious but hadn’t lost enough of his mind to maim or kill one of the good guys, the best he could do and the most he wanted to do right now was to strike the guy, to slam that damn face, to let go some of the internal flame.

He actually was able to knock the guy in the jaw pretty hard before the guy forced him down again, front to front this time, palm spread wide and confining him by his throat, the heavy body weighted on him, a knee shoved into a little bit above his pelvic.

A pained grunt was huffed out, as he loosened the fists that the priest had held against his stomach. The small motion caught the priest’s attention, he glanced down, assessed for a moment before he lifted some of the weight of his hand, only enough to allow Roy twisted his wrists slightly and tossed two pieces of glass aside.

The guy pointed out, “Your hands are bleeding.” He couldn’t see the wound thanks to the wall of muscle that hovered on top of him, but he didn’t need to see it to feel how nasty the cut was.

“I’ll heal in a minute.”

The priest responded with a curt nod, before he said, “I was curious would you ever do something with the glass.”

Roy puffed out a faint snort.

“So it’s some kind of a test, is that it?”

“Not really,” the priest flicked him a small smile, a bit apologetic.

“Just figured you didn’t try to strike me with it when you’ve first broken the glass, then it probably wouldn’t be much of a problem, if I just leave the cleaning for later when I’ve actually gotten the time. Guess it really isn’t good for one to be lazy.”

Roy gazed up at the guy, regarding him in mild interest, “What the hell were you thinking, padre, what made you think that it’s a good idea to bring glass to your prisoner at the first place.”

“I didn’t think much about it. For some reason, those glass seems to be the only type of drinking vessels I have in the cabinet. I have a mug, but that’s kind of my personal possession, and it’s also breakable,” he informed Roy casually with a strict face, “I actually had to go out to the store and buy you some plastic tumblers.”

“Jesus,” Roy was laughing, if those rough, faint noises he made could truly be called as laughter.

He didn’t know how long he laughed or when was the moment that the laughing turned into something else.

The changes of mood were as abrupt and as disordered as his dream.

“Please,” his face was soaking wet and he was rasping.

The priest didn’t move away, hadn’t pressed hard enough to hurt ever since they started to talk; but his hands, his knee and his torso had all stayed at the exact same places, all were steady and unmovable.

“I don’t want to do this, not this time.” Roy begged with both his words and his eyes, the eyes that at the moment felt like they were in flame. “I can’t do this, please please please, just shoot me up, or just _shoot_ me, please, I will do anything, _anything--_ if you just give me something, a bullet, a dose, _I don’t care--_ just give me something, whatever you want, please, I’ll pay you, whatever you want I will do it.”

“I want you to hold strong, Roy. That’s the only thing I need you to do,” the guy replied with a clear voice.

He shook his head slightly.

“No, no, you don’t see it, you _never_ see it, why can’t you just _listen_ , why can’t you just…I can’t be tough just because you told me to, just because you _taught_ me to. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, just _listen_ , please just listen to me…”

“Then talk to me,” said the man from above, “You’re not talking to me, Roy, talk to me and I’ll listen.”

His sight was smeared under the water in his eyes. Baffled by the wrong voice, he blinked in confusion, tried to get himself a clearer view. The voice was deeper than he thought it should be, hadn’t got the unfettered passion or any of the sharp edges of an unruly man.

The voice wasn’t passionate, it was firm and serene. He looked at the man, not blond, dark hair with a streak of white on top. The priest, “Jason,” he acknowledged in a gasp.

Jason nodded in response. “You’re okay?”

“Yes, no,” he croaked, “I can’t…I can’t be strong, Father, I never am.”

“You can, ‘cause you are,” Jason smiled slightly.

The weight was shifting away, without its solidness, without the grounding, he felt like he was tripping all over the places even though he was laying flat on the floor.

He was trembling because what surrounded him was a boiling torrent; it only seemed a bit at ease when a hand rested on his forehead, covering him with unyielding strength.

“I can tell the difference between those who’s weak and those who carries the strength in them, just like I can tell the difference between good and evil,” the priest sat beside him and said, “You are one strong person, Roy, all you need to do is have faith in yourself, or have faith in the fact that what I told you is true. I have my own sin, but lying isn’t one of them.”

He made no response to that but just let the tears washed over his face.

Somehow the noises, the constant nagging within his head, seemed to have dialed down, even just a little.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The smooth purr of a running engine hadn’t drawn the guy's attention. There’s nothing uncommon about a plain old motorcycle on the street; he left the pub and strolled along the sidewalk, faltered in every few steps due to the amount of alcohol he had.

His hands shoved inside his pockets, face swelled and reddened uglily from the drinking; with a tetchy scowl on his face and without a care in the world, he didn’t pay attention to no one, didn’t smell the danger, the unique sense of ominous air.

How could he know, when he had only been the one who’s responsible for it, instead of being on the receiving end.

The motorcycle followed him at a small distance, showing none of its intention until the man took a right turn at the crossroad, heading for the street toward his own apartment.

That part of the block was pretty much empty at night, only had a couple of tramps sitting or sleeping on the pavement.

A startled yelped broke the quietness of the street, the man started to run as the motorcycle had driven up into the sidewalk, clearly chasing after him.

The vehicle could’ve run him over at any seconds, it didn’t; not that it wouldn’t be enjoyable, but the punishment should always fit the crime, and he wouldn’t want the man to get off easy without knowing his sin.

He knew every inches of this city, of these streets, had been running on it back and front ever since he was a kid.

The danger from behind pressed the man toward the direction he wanted him to take. Once he had gotten the man into the alley where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed, he took a swift turn then stopped the engine, blocking the entrance slightly with the vehicle he had taken just a few days ago.

It wasn’t much of an act of stealing but more of a confiscation; the owner of the motorcycle hadn’t earned his money by doing the honest work, the guy was a crook, robbed enough people and stores with his gang. There’s no doubt he could’ve easily pulled another job to get himself a new bike or probably just stole one, if only he hadn’t gotten a broken leg and needed some really long time in the hospital.

It had been long since the day he would take anything without paying, so he did pay the guy a little visit before he had taken the bike, and the owner of the vehicle had gotten exactly what he had earned.

“Shit,” the drunk man, who assumingly had quite sobered up by now, trembled away while he was stepping closer.

There’s no escape route in front of him, once the man had hit the dead-end and came to realize, he had no choice but turned to face him. “I just need a couple o' days, alright? Just tell fat Joey I would pay him in a couple 'ore days.”

“I’m afraid you’ve already hit your deadline, Mr. Hutson,” the voice was muffled by the motorcycle helmet, his tone sounded coarser than usual, but still had enough clarity.

“C'mon, I have a gig coming, just a few more days and I’ll bring you guys the money.”

“You’ll pay tonight,” he said without a doubt, “but not with money.”

The strike was fast, landed precisely on the nose and broken it effortlessly before the man could even blink.

A pained, frightened grunt slipped out of his throat, Jason gripped him by his collar as the moment the force had made his head throw aside and his body was about to topple down.

“Tell me, Mr. Hutson,” he asked placidly while he was giving the man another hit in the face, “--do you know what you are paying for?” The fist was hard and heavy, wrecking the facial bones like a hammer.

The man coughed out a vague grunt. “I take it as a no then,” Jason hummed knowingly and stated.

Only two strike and the man was barely standing, it seemed to him, that some people really weren’t as good at taking it as they were giving it.

“It hurts, isn’t it?” he asked conversationally as his fist wrecked the face again, yanked back his arm, landed it harder then repeat. “That’s how your wife and your child have felt, whenever you get home drunk and have a bad mood. You should know, Mr. Hutson, violence really isn’t a good thing.”

His gloved hand was soaking with blood by the time he finished; the man’s face, especially the left side was nothing but a wreckage; a couple of his teeth were knocked off, the cheekbone was dented and the nose was bent, even with the swollen of his eye subsided, there’s no way he could ever look the same, not without some serious plastic surgery.

The body fell down, limped on the ground when he loosened his grip. The man reclined against the concrete wall behind his back, legs bent and spread out, hands dropped down at the side of his body.

The sight of it didn’t make him feel excited, not especially satisfied nor pleased. He inspected the man, as though he was looking at a picture that hung on the wall of his living room, after he had adjusted the frame a few time, until it was in the right position.

He crouched down a little. “Are you still with me, Mr. Hutson?”

A small, choked sound was the only response he got. The man seemed to be paralyzed by both fear and the beating he took, still, he was conscious, no matter how barely. And for that, Jason was glad.

The man had been introduced to his sin, now it’s time for him to choose.

“Would you like to repent, Mr. Hutson,” he looked at the man through the face shield of his red helmet. “Would you turn away from sin?”

At first, the man didn’t response, just stared blankly at Jason with his one good eye, looking all stunned and lost.

Only a few seconds later did the man realized that he was being serious and really waiting for him to answer.

The man gulped and jerked a quick nod, pried open his lips that had glued together painfully by dry blood.

“Yah, ya, whate'er ye say, I’ll…I’ll ne'er do anything bad e'er again,” he dragged out the reply, and Jason had no doubt that it was truthful.

He acknowledged it with a curt nod.

“That’s good, Mr. Hutson,” he said, then straightened himself up.

He lifted his foot and stomped the hand that the man was laying on the ground; the left one, non-dominated, though the sin shall be punished, but for those who’d made the wise choice to repent, the punishment could be minor.

The sharp scream cut across the alley as the instant the bones cracked.

Just like the man’s face, that hand of his, one of the hands that he had used it to strike, to harm the innocent, would hardly be the same way as it used to be; but gave it a month or two, then he would be healed, left only a small amount of damages that were irreversible.

And the man would look into the mirror or hold up his left hand, and he would know better than to return to the path of sin.

 

***

 

“Is it really necessary?”

He put down the food tray before glancing up. The redhead was sitting in the other end of the cell, with his hands rested on his stomach, knees pulled up in front of his chest.

The look he was wearing right now didn’t seem spiteful or anything; green eyes were mild with a bit of interest, and the voice was calm. He was in a far better state than last night, apparently.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but wouldn’t you say that our little date might be more peaceful if I don’t have the energy for random attack? It’s not like I would've died without the food anyway.” Roy tilted his head and regarding the tray. “Unless, well, you do like to get physical with me, in that case, you can just ignore me.”

Jason snorted humorously, did ignore the last part of his speech.

“I’m sure it would be way more endurable if you actually have something in your stomach. Maybe even can divert your attention a little.”

The tray was put down in the center on the cell, he straightened his back and stepped aside, smiling slightly at the redhead, “Incase we’re not clear, I have no interest of torturing you.”

Roy drawled out an indistinct hum. “Does that mean you’re the kind of priest that doesn’t do torture in general, or just that I’m lucky?”

“A bit of both, I guess.”

Roy hummed again abstractedly, a faint little noise that sounded to Jason that he had found some kind of irony within the answer, but also a bit amused.

The tray he had brought yesterday had been tossed aside, due to the sudden attack he had been facing the second he had stepped into the cell.

Although he didn’t think the chances were big, he did falter for a moment.

He had wondered, had he convinced himself to believe that the evilness of the dark world could truly be vanquished by good-will, only because he wanted it be, wanted to witness it, to see the proof, so all the counter-evidence he still couldn’t help but noticing sometimes wouldn’t have seemed to be making such a solid argument?

The Fang couldn’t actually be able to kill him, a lot of things had tried and they failed, he could easily hold the guy down, let him try attacking again and again and again, but what’s the point, the soul had already been infected by cursed blood, it wasn’t even a human anymore.

 _So what’s left to save, why don’t just shoot him, just put him where he belongs_. The thought, sharp and cruel, had slashed across his mind, before he had came to realize that it wasn’t him that the redhead had been fighting at that moment.

The green eyes had gazed up at him, when he had held the guy down face to face; the flame in his eyes hadn’t been put out, not entirely, but it had been beaten at least; the eyes had reddened and soaked with emotion, with internal pain, with torment that only the redhead himself would know.

The proof he had been looking for was right there, staring straight into his eyes, unmistakably, beautifully, and that’s all he needed to see.

He had stayed until the redhead had fallen asleep, cleaned up the cell a little by picking up the trashed food and all the pieces of glass.

The set of meal he had replaced later last night was untouched, and the new set of food he just brought in didn’t appear to interest the redhead any stronger.

Roy wasn’t in as bad a shape as yesterday, but he wasn’t in a bright mood either, and it’s not that Jason would’ve expected him to be.

He regarded Jason for a few seconds, before he asked, “How long do you plan on keeping me here, padre.”

“Until this is over.”

“Aw, you like me that much, you’re going to do the ‘ _till death do us apart’_ thing? ‘Cause that’s what you’re saying here, Jason.”

“You believe it could never be over?”

“I know for a fact it could never be over.”

He folded his arms thoughtfully. “But you quit once.”

“That doesn’t mean it ever is over. Five years, five days, what’s the difference? You could stay away from the junk as long as you want, it would never stay away from you.”

He guessed that’s true, something never does.

It had been years since his former died, years since he had had his last personal revenge and finally been able to see how meaningless it was, and yet, the sustained spark of wrath deep within his soul, cold and ruthless, never had truly left him, but just flicking in silence.

“The fight against temptation is an unending battle,” he remarked knowingly, and Roy gave him a ghost of a smile in return.

“There’re a lots of times I just wanted to go back,” the redhead told him. “Doing some drug bust and seeing all the white in there, or even just seeing some junkies on the street with that blissful look on their faces, suddenly my mouth is watering, and you know what I think? I think to myself, ‘holy shit, that is the love of my life, why would I ever give her away’.”

He quirked his eyebrow curiously, making a fake thoughtful expression, “I don’t think an abusive relationship should be considered as a form of true love, Roy.”

“Well, just because they hurt you and drive you crazy, doesn’t mean they don’t _drive you crazy_ ,” the redhead replied carelessly with a small shrug.

Jason snorted, though couldn’t deny the truth of it.

With a faint smile on his lips, Roy tipped his head slightly, “You wanna know how I feel ever since I picked up the needle again? It doesn’t just feel like that’s the only choice, sometimes it also feels like I do it because I really _want_ it, because it feels good. The quietness, the peacefulness, to just slow down and chill, just stop thinking, and hearing, and feeling everything.”

There’re a lot he didn’t know about the guy, he realized, and it made him more than just a bit curious.

“Why would you do it, at first?” he asked, after regarding the guy for a moment.

“For the same reason as every stupid teenage boy who has a sap story?”

“Tell me.”

“You sure you could’ve stomach it? It’s real sap, I warn ya,” there’s some meaning behind the words he said, and Jason really would like to know the story.

“I’ll take my chances, Roy,” Jason replied with a small smile, “I did told you I’ll listen, didn’t I?”

“For a tough guy like you, you’re awfully sweet,” Roy hummed and said, almost seemed a bit pleased.

Tough it wasn’t much of a bright expression, but it was enough to deepen the smile on Jason’s lips.

He considered for a moment before sat down onto the ground, crossed his legs casually, hands holding together and rested his elbows on his knees. If the redhead had taken over by rage any seconds from now and did surge at him, then he would stand up, do his duty to hold the guy down.

While he was moving himself to sit, the redhead was watching him, eyes glinted in mild confusion.

Jason stared back at him with patience; seeing how he was relax and prepare himself for a long talk, the puzzlement was gone, Roy repaid him with a wry smile, bitter but no without a hint of sweetness.

“It wasn’t some big, horrifying incident,” the redhead started, “It’s just the little things, all the little things. When the guy—Ollie—took me in from the street, everything seems different, everything seems better, a major step up from everywhere I’ve ever been, and boy, do I want to be there. I’ve already messed it up with the Navajo you know, so it would be real bad if I messed it up again.”

“What happened with the Navajo.”

“What do you think happened, padre,” Roy puffed out a humorous snort as though he found the question funny.

Jason quirked an eyebrow at him, until he explained, “After my dad die, there’s no one else, the chief took me in as a favor to my dad, and for a while, it was great, the man taught me a lot of stuff, but not all the people were really comfortable of having a white boy living among them.”

“They cast you out?”

“Who could blame them? Especially after all the stunts I pulled.”

“What did you do?”

Roy shrugged easily.

“Stole a lot of stuff, some spirits, at first. Just wanted to try it, seeing how the tribe was always drinking but never allowed me to join. Sure now I know why, but at that point, I guess I just kind of figured it’s because I’m not one of them, that’s why I’m not in the club. So I stole myself some liquor, drink it, like the taste of it, like how it made me happy and sleep better. Then, here I am, already found my first poison when I’m just a little kid.”

The guy, who Jason had learned was pretty good at laughing at himself, was wearing a lopsided smirk on his face. “And since I already nicked the liquor, I thought, why not other things? I never get caught though, never have brought the police to them, but eventually, they saw the things I stole, found out I was a thief.”

There’s a small pause, he inspected his own hands for a moment before continuing, “It probably would’ve ended up better, if I wasn’t so mad when someone have said something about how _my_ people have always been the thief. And then they told me maybe it’s better for me to leave, so I leave, never feel like they would let me stay there forever anyway.”

He cast up his gaze at Jason, looking a bit curious.

“You said you’re on the street before the church took you in. Have you ever stole, padre?”

“Of course. Cigs, food, money, pretty much everything except alcohol. My old man was a mean drunk.”

“Hate mean drunk,” Roy grunted. Jason smiled at that.

“Though to be fair, he didn’t really need the drink to be mean.”

“Tough childhood, huh?”

“Aren’t we all?” he replied casually, then was rewarded with a smile, kind and understanding.

Not that he didn’t want to reveal too much of himself, but right now, he really wanted to listen, so he asked, “What happened then?”

“What happened then, it’s I don’t want to screw up, but I don’t know how, don’t know how it works. I want to know the rules so I wouldn’t break it, but it turns out, there’re no rules.”

“That’s not good,” he commented, knew it from experience that it was dangerous to live without rule.

There’re a lot of times he had wondered, where he would’ve ended up, how more crime he would’ve committed, if the church hadn’t provided him not just a shelter, but also the law, spoken to him with clarity that what he shall and shall not be tempted to do.

It’d saved him from the path of sin once, and it had saved him again when he had been poisoned by anger, and believed what he did, what he had been choosing to do was nothing but just.

 _Don’t be deceived and confuse your anger for righteousness,_ his former had said gravely once he had heard Jason’s side of defense. _Reckon the truth, son, do not fall into the devil’s trap, no matter how it disguised._

And he didn’t, in the end; but that was only because the man had diverted his fury, provided him the other way out.

 _For those who sin under the law of mankind will be judged, by **only** the law of mankind,_ his former had said while showing Jason his sacred work, the dangerous work he had once wanted to protect him from, _but for those who sin **apart** from the law, will also perish apart from the law._

That’s the unbroken rule he had been given, and it had been grounding him, keeping him on track, no matter how barely at first.

If it wasn’t for it, he would’ve already been lost; all souls would easily be lost without a rule, a guidance, let alone the young, sensitive one.

Hummed slightly at his last comment, Roy then said, “He was rarely there, always had a lot of stuff going on. It’s stupid, I know, I was already a teenager at that point, I should be able to take care of myself, be smart, be strong, be independent, not hanging with the wrong people just because they welcomed me.”

“You think that’s stupid?” he asked in a skeptical tone, “Needing someone to be there for you when you are truly in need?”

“Well,” Roy didn’t say much about it, just flicked him a halfhearted smile.

The sadness of it was heartbreaking; he wondered if that could ever be removed, if there was any way he could do to help, to heal.

To be honest, when he had first taken the guy to the cell, it wasn’t exactly out of the goodness of his heart. He was curious, and the result of it might turn out to be useful, to think how many innocent men and women who just got turned might have a chance to live without sin, if the bloodlust could be controlled by will, no matter how small the chances were.

But now, it was far more than that.

 _There’s more than one way to overcome the evil, and it’s more productive to help than to harm_ , once his former had said, eyes filled with grief when he had watched his apprentice strike, tearing down the evil without a fragment of mercy or forgiveness, bearing nothing but hate.

Even in these days, he couldn’t help but wonder that had he really changed at all.

“Would you let me go?” the voice drew back his attention. “If I could really get clean instead of losing my mind in here?”

He pondered for a moment. “I haven’t thought of it yet, but I don’t see why not.”

Roy nodded in response, before flashed him a vague, half-joking smile.

“Guess that really is ‘till death do us apart’ then, padre.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Reclining slackly on the floor, body curled up a little with a crooked arm beneath his head, Roy muttered softly once the door was opened for the sixth time, “I don’t feel like I want to do the talking today.”

He had been lying in the same position since he had waken up from the dream, didn’t know how long ago that was, not like he could read the time in here, hadn’t even figured out when was the usual hour that the priest would step in; he could only assume it was at night, possibly quite late, after the mysterious priest had finished his sacred work by spreading the goodness with words of God, helping the sufferer if he wasn’t fighting the evil.

The dream he'd had recently wasn’t particularly bad, not the one he’d had inside the wooden crate that was sticking with him ever since whenever the drug wasn’t there to lull him in peace.

It was an old one actually, the first- edition of unpleasant dream that he’d had quite constantly back when he was still with the Navajo; the man inside the burning house had looked at him through the window, waiting for him to turn home, while everything was in flame, left only him who was untouched.

The dull pang that was sitting in his guts was no more than a mosquito bite compared to everything, he didn’t wake up feel like he was going to sob in grief and loneliness, not the way he did when he was a child. All he felt was tired and a bit sad, wanted to move as little as possible.

Put down the food tray he brought, Jason regarded him with a pair of clear eyes, expression was nothing but understanding.

“You want me to leave?” asked the priest plainly. Roy considered it for a moment.

“Nah,” he declined, twitched the corner of his mouth, not so much as a welcoming smile, but it’s the best he could pull.

The priest gave him a real smile in return, small and quiet as always, yet seemed to be quite enjoying the fact that Roy would’ve accepted his company rather than just told him to piss off and go to hell.

Guessed they’d passed that stage then, he hummed to himself abstractedly.

Whether he had developed some serious Stockholm syndrome here, or had the priest really started to grow on him, he wasn’t sure; he wanted the guy to be here, if there’s one thing he had ever craved more than the white--apart from the feeding, of course--that was being able to talk with people, to hear some other voices instead of his own that had never learnt how to shut up but muttering in doubt and fear within his head.

“Tell me about yourself, padre,” he cast a look at Jason and said, didn’t bother to sit up. The priest didn’t seem to mind anyway.

“What do you want to know.”

“Anything,” he replied casually. “Tell me the great tell about the man in black clerical suit.”

“What made you think I have some kind of a great story.”

A man like this wouldn’t have a hell of a story? Now he’s just being cute. Roy snorted in amusement.

Instead of stating the obvious, he said, “You’ve known a lot about me, Father Todd, normally I wouldn’t share that much information in just a few dates. It only seems fair if I know something about you too, besides your name and the fact that you’re a vampire slayer.”

“I guess you do have a point,” the lips of the priest curled up mildly. “Well, for starter, I’m not a vampire slayer,” Jason stated, while lowered himself on the ground, sitting as the same way he sat yesterday, with his legs crossed, elbows rested on his knees and holding his hands loosely.

Roy kind of liked this, the normalcy and the casualness of the posture, as if they were somewhere else, sitting together in a nice, comfortable place, just two guys having a friendly chat.

He vaguely remembered, “You said something about the wolves before, so you hunt wolves too?”

“Wolves, Fangs, demons, all the creatures of evil. My former has taught me all the things about them, how they work, how to destroy them.”

“Sounds like a really good work, literally fighting the evil.”

“Yeah, although my former probably would be happier if I could stay out of it.” The guy’s expression didn’t change much as he mentioned his former, but there was something, a slice of remorse underneath his plain face and his serene tone.

Roy looked at him with the same patience that the priest had given him when he was the one to listen, didn’t try to interrupt, just let the guy tell his story at his own pace. And Jason started to tell the story.

According to the guy, he and his former had met in Park Row, the nastiest part in this not-so-friendly city, that’s where the guy grew up, with a big old meanie as a dad who always talked with his fists, while his mother was a drug-head, never knew how to defense herself, let alone her children.

“I was already kind of a trouble kid even before my old man went into jail, always got into fight with other kids.” Jason snorted at himself and shook his head disapprovingly, “Guess I just know enough to hate the beating and that was his problem not mine, but haven’t known enough to not fall into the vicious circle.”

Roy responded with a faint hum. “It’s easy to hurt when we’re hurting.” The blue eyes glanced at him, glinted slightly in a way that suggested he didn’t feel the remark was wrong.

The priest continued, “After my old man’s gone, things were really starting to get rough, all the money my mom has earned from the street was pretty much blow off on junk, so I have to find ourselves some new source of income. I was stealing by myself at first, then ran with the gang and did some small robbery when I was older.”

At that point, it had seemed to the guy that that was his life could ever be; being a low-level criminal just like his old man, only this was his option, no alternative.

“I was pretty sure I would’ve winded up in jail, probably got shivved and died as my dad.”

Except one night, few nights after he had found his mother died on the street, he ran into a priest.

“There’s a car parked on the street,” Jason told him, head tilted a little in a casual and relaxing manner, “not expensive, but nice enough. Normally, I would stole some gears. But somehow, I couldn’t see the point. _Hell with all the money--_ that’s what I thought at that moment-- _I’ve never spent as much as my mom, and she’s dead anyway_.”

How pointless things would’ve seemed, Roy didn’t need to wonder, when the only thing you had in the world, no matter what that was, whether it was a shelter, a loving parent, or a problematic one, just got ripped away and you could do nothing but to watch.

“I didn’t feel like stealing anything,” Jason said, then threw him a slightly wicked look, “but I did pull out the wrench I was carrying. Do you know what I did?”

Roy could only guess, “Don't tell me you wreck the car.”

“I wrecked the car,” Jason confirmed with a muted laughter.

Little did he know, that was the car of a preacher man; while Jason was wrecking his car, the owner had stepped out the building where he had gone to visit some elderly. The man had caught him red-handed, he had tried to run, but the old priest was surprisingly good at martial art.

When the priest had held him down, the young boy was sure he’s done, figured that finally it’s time for him to go to jail. He had been surprised that the man would’ve talked to him and given him a choice instead.

“I have repented, away from sin and turned to God,” Jason stated calmly, “I wasn’t entirely in peace, not always, but I was getting there.”

“Then what happened.”

“The earthquake,” Jason replied, the voice was plain, only the smile that was dangling on his lips sharpened a little. “The one that devastated this city years ago. That’s what happened.”

Roy could remember seeing the news at Ollie’s tenement.

It had been years since that ruinous disaster, he had only gotten to know Ollie a little while at that point; the man had tried to help once he had seen the news, but there’s not much he could do, especially since the government had decided the city was beyond saving and therefore abandoned her.

The sight he had seen on the TV was horrifying, to see such a magnificent creation had been brought to her knees in merely one day. That’s all it took, one unforeseeable strike, a quake, a flood, a fire, ruined without warning or reason.

What’s more horrifying though, it the public view, saying how it was God’s will, that it was some long-time-coming punishment, considered how the city had always been sinful, a place that was crawled with evil, a cursed land that didn’t worth any resource.

Who the hell gave them the right to judge, he remembered thinking when he had learned about the government’s decision; all the big talk, all the self-righteousness, it’s just for hiding the fact that they’re nothing but some selfish pigs.

In the end, the city had survived, with the help of some unlikely people, she had been brought back to life. People wouldn’t even remember how much trauma she’d been through, when they walked into the city these days.

“My former wanted me to leave, stay in Bludhaven with one of his acquaintance when the evacuation began,” the Gothemite told him, “but I couldn’t leave him to stay and help the people all by himself. The man was way more of a father to me than the one who died in jail, let alone the fact that this is as much as my parish as his.”

There’re a lot of people who had gotten left behind, or didn’t want to leave their city at all. The old priest and his young apprentice had taken them to the church. All the people in there were helping each other, trying their best to survive.

Undoubtedly, this city had never seemed more hopeless than those days. Everything had fallen down, and the street had been populated mainly by its worst citizens. All the strong men in church have been fighting against the street gangs that had wanted to take over their shelter and the supplies they had gathered.

“My former have never lost his hope, ‘ _we wouldn’t suffer more than we can endure, all we need is to wait, with patience and faith, then the Lord will save us all_ ’ he said to me when I showed my doubt, I wanted to believe it, and I did, in a way. I believed that the shitstorm would pass, but only if we could survive through it.”

It didn’t seem to the boy that the rescue they had been waiting for would’ve come any day soon, they could barely hold their fort against their attackers on the street. The boy, even with everything he had been taught in the church, was a fighter by nature, and no stranger to violence.

Sit and pray wasn’t the option for him, it never was, even when the shit he was facing was one pathetic man who couldn’t fight people his own size. He was sick of being under attack and wanted to fight back.

“We didn’t have many weapons in church, the only firepower we had was a few guns that some of the men have brought with them when they came.”

The teenage boy was in the scout team with a couple of men; the team had found a camp one day at a supplies run. The camp was set in a liquor store, with just a few thugs inside.

No doubt they could’ve found some supplies in there, but what had seemed more tempting to the boy when he had seen through the broken window, was the weapons inside, way more weapons than that small amount of thugs.

“If we have taken the guns, we could have a better chance to win,” the boy had told the old priest once he had gotten back to the church, but the man didn’t like the idea at all, didn’t believe using violence against violence was the answer.

“’ _That’s not the way,_ ’ he said, but to me? It is.” Jason told him. “I sneaked out alone that night, wanted to get inside, gather some information so I could’ve arranged the attack.”

The boy had slipped into the store, and the thugs had caught him. A series of gunshot had risen from the front door after he had been held down. “ _Here comes the rescue_ , I thought.”

Only it wasn’t, it’s a green-haired psychopath, the worst virus that had been set free in the ruin of this city. The human form of lunacy had brought his henchmen along, wanted to take over the resource or probably just looking to have some fun.

The boy had been captured by one of the henchmen before he could’ve escaped; after all the other big guys had been taken down, that crazy-fuck walked over to the teenager with a grin on his face, and with a crowbar he had picked it up somewhere in the store.

“I tried to play it cool, tried to convince him that I wasn’t one of those guys, that I was just a nobody. But it didn’t matter to him, who I was, who I wasn’t.” There’s a small twitch on Jason’s lips, not specifically a snarl or a smile, just a plain, simple twitch, curt and indifference.

“It was just a bit of a laugh,” Jason said, while Roy sitting himself up slowly.

“It shouldn’t be,” he replied in an mutter; what’s the meaning of things, he thought to himself, why the terror, the tragedy, the pain. It had to mean something, and it shouldn’t be nothing but a nonsensical joke.

Jason gave him a smile, a real one, with a hint of real sorrow inside. “For the evilness it is,” he simply stated, before went on with his tell.

The guy hadn’t given much of the details about what had happened next, he was dead, he said, than he was brought back to life.

“How.”

“Miracle,” he smirked, though apparently, it didn’t feel much like it at the time.

The boy was dead for a week, that’s what his former had told him. His former had rushed to find him that night, once he had found out the kid was missing. When he had gotten into the scene, it was too late, the killer had gone, left all the dead bodies and the dying boy inside the store that was about to explode.

The only thing that the man had been able to save was the kid’s body. The kid had been buried outside the church, then crawled back from the ground a week later, with his shell had been empty of both scars and thoughts.

The resurrected boy had walked into the church, to his Father, but only by instinct; he hadn’t been talking or thinking until everything was over and the city had resurrected as well.

“My former have read the news to me everyday, told me about the rebuild process. One day after he left, I moved and picked up the newspaper, and I read it, turned the pages from back and front. And all I’ve found was how the city has survived, along with all the good works that the man who rescued her has done.”

Something was missing, that was the first thought that had come to the boy’s mind ever since he was back.

What happened to those people, the criminals, the street gangs, the evilness that had abused the city when she was at her weakest, the boy was at lost, there’re some of them had been put into jail, but what happened to the others? Did they just somehow get unpunished for the crimes they’d committed? For the damages they’d done?

“A lot of criminals, including the Joker, were still at large after the city has rebuilt, it didn’t make sense to me, and I wanted it to make sense, I wanted to do something, but I wasn’t sure what, exactly, should I do.”

Until one night, he told Roy, he was in the church alone, and a man walked in to make a confession.

Since the old priest had gone out, the man, a sexual offender who just got out of jail, had talked to the assistant pastor.

“He talked to me about this woman, who lived in his block, how that dirty little slut has been tempting him, trying to lure him into sin, he said he don’t want to do it, he said he would never do anything sinful again. But I could hear the false of it, how he hasn’t actually regretted for his own action but only for the punishment he took.”

And the punishment wasn’t enough, the young pastor had recognized, put the sinner into a shelter and feed them, and all they would do was repeat their sins once they were free.

“That wasn’t enough for them to repent,” Jason stated in a flat tone. “So I followed him after he walked out of the church, when I saw a crowbar lying on the street, I picked it up without a thought. I waited until the guy walked inside an alley, then I made sure sex wouldn’t be an option for him anymore. That way, he really wouldn’t be tempted again.”

During the punishment, the convict had prayed in tears, and the boy had heard it and given the man a chance to repent.

The man had repented, and it wasn’t just saying shit as he did before.

That’s what he should do, the boy had realized, that’s why he was brought back, and that’s how he could make some sense into things, to save things from all the sin and the chaos.

“I was doing that for a while, beating up some abusers I’ve known because their wives and children were the church members, some convicts I’ve met from all the visit my former has brought me to who didn’t seem reformed to me, some small time criminals around the blocks who were a bully.”

“That’s a hell of a way to preach,” Roy remarked halfheartedly while studying him. Jason snorted in reponse, didn’t seem especially remorse or anything.

If the guy had been as strong-armed as he was now a day, then there’s no doubt he could be quite persuasive. But Roy knew for a fact that not all of the bad guys were easy to get frighten, the nastier the bolder.

“What if they’re too stupid to learn the lesson you’ve tried to teach them, padre? What have you got in store for them.”

Jason flashed him a curt smile, didn’t bother to answer, probably had figured out that the question was only rhetorical.

“My former found out before I could’ve done more damage,” he told Roy instead, “He tried to stop me, talked me out of it. But I couldn’t be stopped, and he knew that, so he gave me an alternative.”

Roy acknowledged it with a nod. “That’s how you got into the business?”

“Yeah,” Jason replied casually, “the man has been protecting this parish from evilness for years, and I didn’t know, because he didn’t want me to know. All he wanted for me was to have some peace in my heart, fall under grace, not fighting in the darkness.”

But the Lord had his own plan, the old priest had realized that, so he had decided to reveal his secret, given his apprentice some real enemies to fight, since that was the only way he could’ve saved the kid from damnation.

The kid was already good at street fight before he was taken in to the church, and he’d always liked to keep himself in shape. After he had come back to life, he was even stronger, somehow abnormally. All he needed was some proper training, then he was good to go.

“He set the rule for me, told me that I could harm only the evilness but never the people. I followed his rule, but only because it’s fine with me as along as there’s some evil for me to fight. I’ve never stopped respecting the man, but things between me and my former were never the same as before.”

“You’re angry,” Roy pointed out softly. Jason returned him a vague smile.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about how this world should be set right. I was fighting the evilness, but how could it help anything if there’re still countless of people have sinned and brought harm to our world everyday, some of them were as depraved as those unholy creatures, how could that be any different, how could that isn’t my duty—my right—to bring them down, to crush them. And I was angry with my former, kind of saw him as the one who got in my way, because he didn’t want me to be a murderer.”

Roy let out a faint hum. “Sounds like you got some really wise mentor.”

Jason agreed with a nod, before continuing, “My former died a few years ago, killed by a demon. I revenged him, killed the demon myself. But it didn’t feel like I had my justice, didn’t feel like I’ve set anything right. The man is still dead and I haven’t helped shit, not really. Sure I destroyed the demon, but I didn’t do it so I could help or protect anything or anyone.”

He stopped for a brief moment, inspected his closed hands, before cast up his gaze at Roy. “I never did, I realized. I’ve never cared about this world. All those things I’ve done? I was doing it because I was mad as hell and I wanted to hurt something really bad.”

The man Roy was looking at right now didn’t seem nothing but calm and sensible; although there wasn’t an old scar for him to see, Roy had no doubt that there were at least a few bunches of them inside, if not under that full collar suit then there were somewhere deeper.

Whether they were coming from what happened to him during the quake, or those that had been left on him ever since he was his dad’s son, they were there, couldn’t be removed by miracle, possibly couldn’t be removed at all, but only was conquered.

“Always an angry kid, aren’t you?” he stated in a tender tone, lips crooked into a small, knowing smile.

Jason snorted in self-mockery, “Yeah, guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“People don’t get angry when they’re happy and live without pain,” Roy simply replied. The sharp edges in the pair of blue eyes seemed to be lessened slowly; Jason lifted his lips a little and gave Roy a really nice smile in return.

They held gaze with each other for a moment, a short, quiet moment that was almost peaceful, then the priest finished his story.

After his former die, the young vengeful pastor was at lost; how the guy had whirled in his own fury and the pain of losing someone he love, it was painful for Roy to even imagine.

Two men from the congregation had come to his former’s funeral and talked to the pastor afterward, assigned him all of his former’s duties.

“I was sitting at the church after they left, pulled out a pack of cigarette and started to smoke. I’ve never smoked in the church before, but who’s going to scold me now? So I smoked almost the whole pack, while I was looking at the Christ. ‘ _Fuck do you want from me’_ , I asked.”

“Did he answer?”

“In a way,” the priest puffed out a curt laugh. “I remembered all the things that my former has told me, was trying to teach me all these years, and it finally started to make sense to me.”

That’s when he quit smoking; the guy didn’t say, but somehow Roy just knew. Put down the pack as the moment he chose to be stronger than his own demon and free himself from his anger.

“And I thought those super-people in tight are tough,” he sighed sincerely, and the priest actually grinned a little, showing a bit of teeth.

“How,” Roy couldn’t help himself but wanted to know. Then he added a second later, “Please tell me something besides your belief in God, no disrespect here, but, you know.”

The priest threw him an amused look before he said, “I don’t think I’m really in much of a position to give you the advice. A lot of times, I have my doubts, and although I choose to do my job for the right reason, sometimes it still feels too good to hurt things.”

He regarded Roy for a moment, eyes clear and unyielding; kind of looked like the most bad-ass things Roy had ever seen.

“I haven’t won, Roy, and you’re right about how things could never be over. The best I could do is keep fighting, ‘cause we don’t, we lose,” Jason pulled out a sharp smile, “Call me competitive all you want, but I fucking hate to lose.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

When the priest came in the seventh time, he didn’t say much.

Roy lifted his gaze as he heard the door had been opened. He was about to speak, but fell short once he had laid eyes on the priest.

No food tray on the guy’s hands like it was before, the priest didn’t bring him a set of meal but something else.

Roy was sitting with one of his knees drew up on the ground, shackled hands dangled on top of the knee. Not particularly feeling surprised or confused, he watched in silence as the priest stepping closer.

The air of the cell, the way the guy moved or the expression on his face, none of it had appeared to be any different than the past six days. Jason crouched down in front of him, the first time they were getting this close without violence involved, maybe with the exception of the night that the guy had put his hand on Roy's forehead.

The guy put down the thing he brought on the floor, then reached to Roy’s hands.

Once the handcuffs had been removed, Roy rotated his sore wrists, slow and experimentally.

He was kind of conflicted here, not that he didn’t appreciate the freedom, but he had started to get used to the weight, the hard cold metal that would bite into his skin whenever his hands were moving too much.

Although he didn’t like the restraint, he still missed the firmness of it the second it was gone. He inspected his free hands cautiously, studying it as if they were some wild little cubs; something with claws and teeth that had the capability to harm, even though they look soft and fluffy at the moment.

Jason was watching him while he was regarding his own hands, didn’t break the silence until Roy turned his eyes on him. The reflection of himself that Roy could see on the blue eyes were nothing but a fragment of small, rough image, yet it was somehow limpid.

“No drug in church,” was the only thing the priest said, before he stood up slowly and headed back to the door.

It was kind of curious that someone could’ve sounded so cold and tender in the same time. Roy dropped down his gaze, didn’t move until the priest was gone quietly, leaving without the sound, a definite clank, that would’ve risen whenever the door was closed.

Roy picked up the pistol that was left beside his feet, the gun he was holding looked familiar, he wondered was it the same one that the priest had shoved into his mouth only seven days ago.

Only seven days. He felt like it was way longer than that, guessed it was only natural to have that kind of feelings when people got their whole past laid in front of them.

He recalled what he had said, and what the priest had said to him; recalled every single words he heard whether it was the kind one or the abusive one.

He wasn’t kidding when he had made the remark last night, the one about those people in tight; it didn’t actually require much to fight the evil everyday, all you need to do was being powerful, do a hell a lot of training if you weren’t genetically strong.

That wasn’t the hardest stuff in the world, what’s harder, was sharing a cage with your worst enemy, fighting it not just every single day but every single moment that you still live and breathe.

 _“I can beat this_ ,” that’s what he had declared at the first time, wanted only to win, to show people that he could be good enough, that he could be stronger than his own weakness.

Though he did win that battle, but it was just that; a battle, not the war.

The war could never be finished, and since the enemy had literally alliance with the forces of evil, this time he really couldn’t afford to lose; once he lost, he lost it for real, and the result of it wouldn’t just him disappointed some people, it would be unthinkable.

A fight, a visit to the hospital, an accident on the street, or perhaps someone in front of him had just got a nasty paper cut, that’s all it took; his heart would be pounding way too loud, and he would be drooling all over the floor, both him and his tummy was growling.

Even just the thought of it had made his stomach clench, and the itchiness deep in his throat made him want to dig his fingers inside, scratch the back of his throat so hard until it was nothing but a bloody mess.

And the wound would heal only awhile later if he’d done that; all wounds of his undead body would heal except the real, significance ones.

If he was lucky, he might’ve held long enough before the hungriness took him, and he could go back to medicate himself the only way he knew, the only way he could control.

No poison had ever riled him; no matter he was drunk or high, he was always mellow. Better the devil you know than the devil that had bad teeth and feed on innocent people.

But, what then.

He could easily imagine himself went back tracking the bloodsucker, if he could function properly. But once he had his revenge, then what more else should he do.

Kept shooting himself up and hide away from people for the rest of his life, he supposed.

Funny how he had always thought he would’ve ended up alone, as though he was cursed to be. Guessed that really was the truth, instead of just his stupid brain being mean to him.

“Didn’t seem much of a happy ending to me,” he muttered to himself softly.

That’s the choice that the priest was giving him, it was humane actually, allowed him to end the suffering right here right now, if he’s just going to walk out here and went back being nothing.

What happened within him would never be over, unless someone put an end to it.

 _Have faith_ , the priest had said, but Roy didn’t know how. The guy was tough, how could Roy do anything he did, when he was just a sad, lonely boy like he always had been. No one had ever had faith in him, why should he have faith in himself.

“What should I do,” he asked, but there’s no answer.

No taunting voices, no stupid kid in a red suit in here, except him, apparently.

He didn’t know when exactly, but he realized that the brat had left.

“Guess that’s left for me to choose then.” Roy murmured.

Lifted his hand and pointed the metal against his temple, he whispered to himself, “Till death do us apart,” while he cocked the gun.

 

***

 

“For the flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing, protect those who trudge in darkness, grant them your shield and armor to battle against the wickedness, and the strong and courageous one shall never to taken by the evil; shed them the light, my Lord, so even the darkness they dwell is not dark to them, and the night will be as bright as the day.”

He didn’t move one step forward until he heard, “Amen.”

“Amen,” he repeated, but mostly just out of respect. Not that he was ever that devoted to the culture, but no matter how things had ended up, he was still pretty much a Navajo just like he was everything else.

The priest was sitting at the first row of the benches; although the voice was quite small, it didn’t seem to escape him. “You’re not dead,” he stated with a faint smirk while Roy drew closer to the bench.

Roy responded with a vague hum, didn’t sit down but stood before the bench. “You sound like you’re glad.”

“Because I am glad,” the priest replied with honesty. “I was just praying for you, you know, and telling the Lord how suck it would be if you’ve blown your head off.”

“So he does listen,” Roy said with a nod. Jason flashed him a smile.

“Someone must have,” the responded was light and a bit ambiguous. Roy wondered how often did the guy actually pray, privately, without people asked him to pray for them. Despite the title, the suit, and everything, the guy really didn’t seem much of a prayer to him.

Had he prayed more before the quake? He wondered. Had he still believed, even in the last moment, that there would be someone to deliver him from all of his suffering when the rescue he had been looking for had never come?

The questions didn’t seem much of a mystery, really; it’s always easy to lost something, it would only be hard if you could find it and decided to hold onto it.

He thought to himself absentmindedly, swayed the gun he was holding and said, “Wouldn’t the chances of me spilling my brain in your cell be smaller, if you take the bullets away?”

“What’s the point,” Jason regarded him calmly, reasonably. “We all make our own decision.”

He guessed that’s true. Though assisted suicide really didn’t sound like a Christian thing to do, but since he wasn’t a human anymore, it probably hadn’t violated any rule.

Jason tilted his head slightly. “How do you feel.”

“Hungry,” he said, because he was. There’s a plate and a cup of water were placed next to Jason; the guy smiled and pushed the plate a little forward.

Sat down next to the plate, Roy picked up one of the sandwiches, studying it for a second before taking a bite.

His throat was still inching after he cleared the plate, but at least his stomach wasn’t feeling it was going to devoured itself, not entirely.

The pain was still there, but for the moment, it didn’t feel especially stronger than anything.

The guy hadn’t technically watched him while he ate, because that would be totally weird, but he did seem to be keeping an eye on him.

The water that mixed with some shitty-taste energy powder had tasted as awful as he had expected, Roy winced a little, dragged out a vague “Thanks” before he put down the glass.

Shit did he miss some juicy burgers and a large cup of milkshake. “I am so going to have some real food after this,” he murmured longingly, before turned his eyes at the priest.

“Am I free now, padre?”

The priest looked at him with serene eyes, “You’re always free, Roy. Just because I’ve put a pair of handcuffs on you and locked you in the cell doesn’t mean otherwise.”

Roy snorted at that. “So thought-provoking,” he let out a half-mocking sigh, then cast down his gaze and pondered for a few seconds.

“What if I go out there, and I just can’t help myself,” he asked in a quiet tone, and the answer he received was plain.

“You can always help yourself,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “Have you really not noticed?” he paused, possibly waited for Roy to look at him.

Roy didn’t lift his gaze but inspected his own hands that rested on his knees, Jason just said it anyway, “You were a mess back there, I doubt you can be any worse from now on than you were going cold-turkey in that cell. It would be easy, much more easier for you, if you just take a bite at me back there.”

He hummed. “Not that I would’ve succeeded.”

“But you could certainly try.”

“I did strike you quite a few times.”

“Yeah,” the priest agreed and smirked a little, “but I figured that just because you dislike me.”

With the corner of his mouth twitched up, Roy puffed out an amused snort.

How could he not see, he pondered, then instantly knew the answer. He didn't see because he had been frightened, and believed without a doubt that he could never be stronger than the evilness he was carrying, the wrongness that was within himself.

The smell was there, if only he had focused enough; the smell of uncanny sweetness, the indistinct sound of a pounding heart, of streaming inside the veins. It never had gone, never for a second in the past eight months, he’d just gotten used to it, lived in the shitty environment for too long, everything had became more or less usual, inevitably.

The pain, the hunger, all of those shit would always be with him; just like how he would always lick his lips subconsciously, whenever there’s some white, some needles, some addicts in sight.

Who said the world was ever clear of temptation?

“Just another Tuesday,” he concluded after a moment of thought. The priest gave him a smile and he smiled slightly in return.

Slowly, he stood up.

“Well, guess I should get going then.” He paused and stared at the guy, felt like there’s too much he wanted to say. “Thank you,” he decided, kind of figured he could speak for a whole night and it would never be enough.

“See you around, padre.”

Jason nodded in response. Roy flicked him another smile, ready to head for the entrance.

“What are you planning to do next?” the guy suddenly asked him before he could actually take a step.

He looked back at the guy, with a confused frown on his face.

“Keep finding the bloodsucker.”

The priest hummed thoughtfully. “You could be searching for years,” he said, “and if he really is as old and has many children as you said, you think you could be able to take him down all by yourself?"

“I’ll try,” Roy replied curtly, voice turned cold a little.

“But maybe you don’t have to.” Seeing how Roy creased his brows in puzzlement, he smiled and asked, “How do you think of Gotham.”

Roy shook his head. “What has it got to do with anything.”

“Because I think you should stay,” Jason simply replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking you to give up your revenge, I just thought the congregation might have some clues about where the Fang is and what exactly are you up against. If you’d stick around, I could probably ask them to do some digging for you.”

“You would do that for me?” Roy folded up his arms, couldn’t help himself but being a bit skeptical.

Jason responded with a casual smile, “I can’t promise you the result will come any day soon, but I do think you have a better chance to find him this way than searching blindly on your own. And in the meantime, you could even stay at the church if you want.”

Okay, this is really starting to get weird. “Why,” he said, “I mean, I get it, you are a good Samaritan, but seriously?” Jason snorted at it, then he finally got it.

“You want to keep an eye on me, aren’t you?” Roy stated in a bitter tone, not that he could actually blame the guy or getting annoyed or anything, since the priest had every reasons to want to keep a Fang on the leash. Reformed or not, they were dangerous. He didn't need anyone to tell him about this.

“Yes,” the priest replied simply, “but not for the reason you’d think.”

“What?” he snorted, as amused as he was baffled. “You just really like me that much?”

“Maybe,” Jason said with a smile. “Or maybe because for some reasons the evilness always seemed to be drawn into this city. You wouldn’t be able to imagine how many evil creatures I have to deal with. Although I’m quite fine on my own, I wouldn’t mind if I have some help, especially from someone with your fighting skill and the capability of a Fang that makes you hard to die.”

So basically, this city was a Hellmouth, who would’ve thought. He puffed out a small snort.

“’ _Hard to die_ ’, huh? Guess being an undead creature do has its perks.” Roy replied in a sarcastic tone. Somehow it didn’t really sting, to hear the guy stated out the fact that he was a bloodsucker.

Probably because it’s just a fact, whether someone was a bloodsucker, a Christian, a Navajo, a sad kid or an angry one, those fact would always stick with them, along with all the shit and pain they bore.

But it didn’t mean what they were was all they could ever be; shitstorm would pass, and even the nastiest wound could be better sometimes, if people would attend it with just a bit of kindness.

Roy pondered for a moment before cast his eyes to the guy. If the guy really was asking, then there’s no way he could say no to that. “I owe you, don't I?” he murmured softly. Jason returned him a vague smile, small but it definitely was a smile that belonged to someone who actually gave a shit.

“I’ve expected nothing in return.” The priest said kindly, in a half-joking tone, “But yes, I can see how people would say you really owe me.”

 

***

 

“Wouldn’t it be better?” he stated immovably. “Just end it, all those crimes, all those bad things, just end it, once and for all.”

“It will not be any better, it would just be easier.”

It didn’t make sense to him. “How come that isn’t a good thing.”

“Because no good deeds could ever be achieved easy, there is no easy fix in the world.” The way he looked at him didn’t seem to be disappointed, not even as displeased as he was when he had caught him smoking; the man was looking at him as though his heart had broken, as though he was feeling sorry for him.

“Don’t be deceived and confuse your anger for righteousness,” the man spoke slowly in grief. “Reckon the truth, son, do not fall into the devil’s trap, no matter how it disguised.”

But it _was_ righteous, how could it not be?

It felt nothing but right, and it felt _**good**_.

“They deserve to be punished,” he replied plainly, and his voice was calm, even though his inside was burning, lightened up with fury that seemed like it would never burnout. It fueled him the energy, the strength, the forces he had every right to use.

“They will be, but only by God.” The man quoted, "Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.”

The man had said it as though he knew, but what the fuck did he know about anger, about suffering, about _pain_?

His fists clenched tightly, there’s something under his skin, squirming and scratching, wanting nothing but to break out and strike.

The voice, the words, even the man himself, none of it had sat right with him, nothing did and nothing will be.

“How could I not be mad,” beneath the flat tone and the curious expression that masked his face, he was snarling furiously, “How could you and everyone not be mad, when we’re living in a world that filled with all the evilness, the ugliness, the terrible shit that all the people out there have done, are only capable of.”

“All the people out there are also capable of a lot of good things, some of them have helped, have saved, have suffered for the sake of righteous, fighting the evilness everyday in their own various way. There’re goodness and beauty in our world, and that is the fact you should bear in mind,” the man told him, “Don’t be blind to them and forget what you really shall be fighting for, Jason.”

“Sure, Father,” he replied casually with a twitch of lips, basically laughing. “If I ever see one of those, I’ll remember to keep it close to me, so I wouldn’t forget.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
